


Beauty of God

by SallyElizabethSparrow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Possession, Aquaphobia, Bad Parent John Winchester, Drowning, F/M, Fallen Angels, Jophiel - Freeform, M/M, Revenge, Siblings, Soulmates, Torture, Twin Powers, Twins, Winchester Family (Supernatural) Angst, Winchesters - Freeform, twin telepathy, winchester family drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 87,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallyElizabethSparrow/pseuds/SallyElizabethSparrow
Summary: Jophiel was once a powerful archangel, God's only daughter and known to all humans as the beauty of God. But after being brutally cast from Heaven, the archangel was forced to use a small child as her vessel in order to survive. Emma Winchester was only five years old when the angelic form came to her, and agreed to help the dying angel recover within her. Laying dormant for some time, Jophiel promised protection for the child and her family, meanwhile plotting revenge for those who had torn her from her Heavenly home.





	1. Chapter 1

Among her fellow brothers and sisters, Jophiel had grown accustomed to her nickname “the Beauty of God”. All of her Father’s vision of grace, elegance, beauty, and kindness had been poured into one celestial being, and thus she was born. An archangel like her brothers, Jophiel was the manifestation of all things good, and all things splendor. A sight that those who had the privilege to behold were fortunate to even manage a glimpse of her would be blessed with good fortunate for eternity. And for that, Jophiel was often restrained to staying in Heaven, unable to look upon the world and immerse herself amongst her Father’s most prized creations. In the few visits she had been granted to Earth, she had fallen hard for the humans. They were flawed, but almost beautifully so. It made them unique, a true sight to behold. Likewise, the humans she’d interacted with felt the same, dropping to their knees, both men and women alike, and praying to her beauty. She was kind to them, and granted the humans that worshipped her gifts of healing, prosperity, and good fortunate to last them a lifetime. 

Lucifer, however, abhorred the human race, especially after being granted the Mark of Cain. Though she’d grown up close to her brothers, loving them as deeply as she’d loved the humans, Lucifer began to withdraw from them, becoming cold, distant, and enraged as their Father’s love seemed to shift from him to the human race. Jophiel did her best to satiate these suspicions, reminding Lucifer that he was truly God’s favorite, and that the human race was, however fascinating, incomparable to the love that their Father had for him. But coupled with the influence of the Mark, Lucifer’s frustrations only grew with time. The Mark became too much for him to bear. And so, despite the pleading from his sister to reconsider, Lucifer waged a war against Heaven. Torn between her brothers, Jophiel ran to Michael after finding out that Lucifer had been cast from Heaven by their Father, and sealed into Hell by Michael himself. 

“Is it true?” Jophiel demanded, storming into her eldest brother’s chambers with his guards on her heels. She was forcibly restrained at the elbow and waist, earning the two lesser angels a blast of energy to their faces, the chamber door slamming shut behind them. Jophiel spun back to face her brother again. “Did you lock Lucifer away?”

“It would be wise to remain uninvolved, sister.” Michael replied distantly, never once looking up from the documents on his desk. “Lest you be subjected to a similar fate.”

“I am not a child. You will not treat me as such.” Jophiel strode up to the desk, wrenching the documents from Michael’s line of sight and onto the floor with a soft, undramatic flutter. “Did Father order you to do this to him?”

“Jophiel-“

“ANSWER ME!” 

Even outside, the sound of Michael’s guards stilled. Michael’s stoic expression gave the answer she was seeking, and her arms folded over her chest, anger creeping into her features. She was never quite as good as her siblings remaining emotionless. In fact, Michael seemed to be the only one that truly mastered the ability to be so cold. The humans had little influence on him.

“I did what needed to be done.”

“You locked him away from us! This was not what was needed to be done! Lucifer needed us, and you helped Father further punish him.”

“I protected our family.”

“Lucifer is our family!”

“Enough!” The glare in his eyes was enough to still even the mightiest of wills, and Jophiel found herself taking a small step back as though he would lash out at her as well. Squaring his shoulders, Michael’s frustration faded back into the stock soldier-like stare. “I did as Father commanded.”  
“He is our brother.”

“And one brother is not worth the sacrifice as all our other brothers and sisters. He is no longer the brother you remember, Jophiel. You must see that. He has changed.”

“He needs us.” A quiver evident in her voice. “Now more than ever. If ever there was a time to put your foot down with Father, it was then. How could you?”

“I did as commanded.” Michael finally stooped over to collect the items that had been discarded to the floor, smoothing them out over his white oak desk. “You should take from my choices and consider heavily whose side you’re truly on. You may become the next to be cast out.”

“You would never dare. And Father would never allow it.”

“Mm.” 

With his non-committal hum, Michael was absorbed back into his work, indicating that whether she agreed or not, the conversation on hand had ended. Although she would argue further and convince Michael to allow Lucifer back into Heaven, she knew it would do no good with the guards opening the doors once more. A hand extended to escort her out, only to be slapped away immediately as she saw herself out of the chamber. She would have choice words for Father as well, whenever he decided to emerge from…wherever it was he’d disappeared to. In truth, it’d been a long time since anyone had seen God, and Michael seemed to be the only connection to him left. It was worrisome, but far less so than being so disconnected from Lucifer. She hadn’t agreed with Lucifer’s disdain for humanity, but this separation of family was a far worse punishment than her brother’s crime had been. Michael’s chamber doors slammed sharply behind her, causing her to whirl around and bang on it with her fist.

“This is not over, Michael! We will bring Lucifer home!”

If only she had known then the prying ears that were listening in of Michael’s most devoted followers. Perhaps things would have turned out differently. But even Michael could not have predicted the reaction that the angels would have over his orders being challenged. Archangel or not, Jophiel had issued an empty threat to the current leader in Heaven, and made a mockery of his decisions and his position. It was not going to be taken lightly, regardless of whom it had come from.

In her own chamber, Jophiel desperately tried to reach out to Lucifer. With no sense of how much time had passed, she sat endlessly, reaching out as best she could to touch her beloved brother. But no matter how hard she pushed her powers, he could not be reached. Lucifer had been sealed inside of Hell, and unless all the seals were broken, he would not be free. Despite that Lucifer would be vengeful, Jophiel only wished to reunite her family. Choosing sides was painful enough, but to never be able to hear her brother’s voice or the chill of his laughter broke her heart, as it would if it had happened to Michael, or even annoying Gabriel, who had at least fled to Earth when this began and was well within reach.

Despite wanting him home…she knew that what Michael had done was for their own protection, at least to some extent. Even from this horrible distance, the darkness encasing Lucifer only began to strengthen. Abandoned and alone with the Mark of Cain poisoning his mind, Lucifer was not the same as he was before. Separation was not the answer. Abandonment was not the answer either. But Jophiel could not think of alternatives. She laid down in her chamber, thinking of watching the humans again, but the sound of footsteps entering uninvited to her chamber pulled her attention away. No one dared to enter so boldly, so it should not have come as a surprise that the intrusion became hostile instantly. 

Before she could even stand to reprimand them, Jophiel was forcefully slammed to the ground, face pressed against the floor and arms violently twisted behind her back. With an angry grunt she flipped to her side and caught the attacking angels off guard with a well-aimed kick to the chest and the other’s knee taken out and knocking him down. She easily broke free of her restraints, standing with a hand extended to obliterate her attackers and ask any who survived the cause for this attack. It was just as her power began to collect in her palm that a piercing pain ripped through her back, earning a scream so deafening that the angels in front of her cringed and clasped their ears. The penetration was gone, only to repeat into her back once more, a hand sliding over her mouth to stifle the sound of her agony. It should have been enough to alert her own guards, or at least other nearby angels, but none came, and the blade pierced through her again. Jophiel’s screams began to subside into muffled cries, the other two angels finally coming back to themselves and grasping either of her arms.

No explanation was given, no final taunt in her ear before the tearing again. Soul stripped from body, grace shredded into bits, Jophiel was quite literally torn apart. Her being was quartered, then again, and again, and again, each tiny shred of her entity pulled from all that made her whole. Her powers gone, her strength and consciousness with it. Heaven’s comforting lights went out, enveloping her in a darkness she had only ever seen once before with Amara. The type of darkness that she imagined Lucifer now held inside his soul, and the darkness that could linger and influence the humans with such ease at times. It was cold, gripping onto what fragments of her existence remained and slamming it into a cold and unforgiving fall. With each passing moment, further and further she fell into the darkness. It ate away at her soul, stretching on for eternities until finally, everything came to a sudden halt. Though the sensation beneath her was unfamiliar, it was almost a comfort, as though she had felt these surroundings before.

Desperate to understand where and whence she was, Jophiel still found herself blinded to all that was around her. But the one thing that stood out amongst the dark, a small trail of white, like breadcrumbs leading the way toward some unknown link. She chanced it, no other alternative in sight. The trickle of white had to be safety, or perhaps it was health, life…a chance. Her Father may be reaching out and granting her survival, and so she blindly followed. It was unlike her to do so; entrusting her life to a trickle of light felt like a fool’s errand. There was no other choice. So she stumbled, further and further along the trail with the shred of her life that remained. No body, little grace and little consciousness at her disposal to keep her moving. Only the will to live; the trail stretching on for eternities of endless twists, turns, and loops that led the glowing little path toward…hope. 

Finally the trail ended, but at the end of a bed, a small child the only glowing indicator that this was where she was meant to be. The child stirred beside another clouded figure, perhaps another child if she were to guess. But in this space, there was only the two of them. She was assured that none other would be able to penetrate it. This child was her key to survival. The blonde tufts of hair poked out further from beneath the bed sheets until a soft, pure face emerged, rubbing her small hazel eyes with her fists. A child…should not have to be subjected to what she would ask of it. Jophiel had little choice. The hazel eyes fixated on her, half-lidded and riddled with exhaustion.

“…Mommy?” The child asked, punctuating her question with a wide yawn.

“No.” Jophiel answered honestly, feeling her time running short. “I am a friend…and I need your help.”

“..Friend?” She blinked, confused. “Why you here? Why help?”

“I am very hurt. And I need you to let me inside you.”

“…are you a bad thing?” The child wondered in her nearly angelic voice. 

“I am a friend.” Jophiel repeated. “And I promise that if you say yes, I can protect you. Always.”

“Protect?” She was becoming more alert with each passing second, crawling out of her sheets and toward the remnants of the angel. She seemed to be considering, however, what Jophiel had to say. “And…Sammy and Deany Daddy too?”

“Yes.” The angel implored, her ability to remain fleeing with every parting second they wasted explaining. “Everyone you love. I will help you protect them.”  
“So I gots to say yes?”

“Yes. I need to use your body, or I will die. And if I die, I can never help keep you all safe.”

The child looked down at her feet, her toes curling and uncurling as she pondered what this mysterious stranger had to say. Her tummy got twisty and knotted, making her feel icky all over like she did whenever Daddy went away for a long time.

“Daddy says we should never say yes to strangers…”

“Please,” Jophiel begged once more, her form fading from this world as she could feel the pull of The Empty trying to take her. “Please, little one. Do not let me die.”

The round and suddenly alert eyes looked up and met Jophiel’s gaze, as if the mere mention of death had flipped something in her. Her eyes welled up, but the child was quick to wipe them away with her balled up fists once more. 

“My Mommy died…” She whispered, voice breaking with a hitch of breath. “Okay.”

“You have to say yes. Say ‘yes, you can come in’.”

“Y-Yes…” The child swallowed. “You can come in.”

“Thank you.”

The angel immediately entered inside of the child’s body with what little remained of her angelic form and collapsed into a darkness that, for the first time in forever, felt like it was surrounded by a comforting warmth. A small flicker of hope and indicator of survival, that she was comfortingly lulled into rest to restore herself in time.

Emma Winchester blinked a few times, the little glowing ball of green light had disappeared from in front of her. She looked down at her hands and knees, expecting something to have been different from saying yes to this stranger. But nothing changed. Her hands still had ten fingers (she was good at counting now!) and she had ten toes too. Looking back at the bed, Emma clambered back up besides Sammy and nestled her head against his shoulder. The sound of Dean’s snores usually were enough to lull her back into a reassured sleep, but she couldn’t stop staring at her hands. Her fingertips had almost touched the glowing light, but now they were doing nothing amazing.

By morning, she was sure it had all just been a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

It started with just a few sneezes here and there. Dean tried every trick in the book to hide his growing sickness from the twins, but Sam and Emma knew when something wasn’t right. It was one of the upsides (or downsides) to constantly living in close quarters, never having a single moment of solitude or privacy. John hadn’t seemed to notice; or if he had, he had elected to ignore the way Dean walked slower or responded to commands a beat or two later than normal. Dumped in another seedy motel in the middle-of-nowhere South Carolina, John had barely taken the time to leave them with food before he was off on another hunt. Dean, who’d taken to coming with John during his more recent outings, wasn’t even given the consideration this time as the motel door slammed shut. Sam took to sorting through the limited supplies they had while Dean attempted to arrange their belongings. 

“What’ve we got, Sammy?” Dean grunted, hefting the bag with his things onto one of the full-size beds.

“Mac n’ cheese…bread…cereal….” Sam sat in one of the chairs with an annoyed huff. “The usual stuffs that I’m sick of eatin’.”

“Sorry little bro. Money’s gettin’-“ Dean paused to cough, the deep rattle sounding like it was coming from his lungs. “-Funds are low.”

“Yeah well he could get other things even if we don’t have a lot!” 

Emma couldn’t disagree. She didn’t know a lot about good eating, but the stuff they were living off of was barely lasting through a couple days, let alone the week to two weeks they sometimes had to stretch it to. They were starving, and Dean was eating less and less so that Sam and Emma would have more (even though he tried to pretend like he was eating the same). Emma picked up hers and Sam’s bags and placed them on the other bed before going to Dean and pressing her palm to his forehead.

“Emmy what the hell-?”

“You got a fever.” The nine year old placed her hands on her hips. “You need to lay in bed.”

“Hey hey, I’m the one taking care of you, alright?”

“And now you’re sick. You need medicine, Dean.”

“Well we ain’t got any.”

Sam crossed the room, a frown plastered across his face. Dean was worse off than either of them had been able to tell before. Small beads of sweat collected around his bangs, and his cheeks were a twinge of red while the rest of his face appeared almost ashen. The ridges of his nose were red and battered from consistent not-so-subtle wiping his nose on his inner shirt sleeve every so often. By all appearances, it could just be a cold, which would mean Dean would just need some rest and something hearty to eat. But with the limited provisions that they had left and no indication of when Dad would be back, it was the perfect storm of a cold potentially going out of control.

“We need to get you something.” Emma protested as Dean finished putting their limited belongings in the appropriate/most easily accessible places. “Like cold medicine or soup.”

“Look, I know you’re trying to help baby girl, but we ain’t got the money for extra things. And I’m fine, so quit your belly-achin’.”

“You are NOT fine!” Emma stomped her foot. “You always say you’re fine but I know when you’re not and this is NOT FINE, DEAN!”

“Enough, alright?” Dean rubbed his eyes in exasperation. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower. You two just fix yourselves some cereal, alright? You know where the bowls a-“

“-Yeah.” Sam interrupted. “We know where the bowls are. Just go shower. You smell.” 

Dean chuckled and ruffled Sam’s hair as he passed by him toward the bathroom, earning an annoyed grunt from Sam who had spent time trying to use Dean’s comb to style his hair during their drive. Sam waited until the bathroom door shut and showered groaned to life before he turned to his sister.

“Do you think he’s gonna get worse?”

“I dunno.” She frowned, arms tightly folded over her chest. “But it’s Dean. And if it was super bad or even a little bad, he still wouldn’t tell us how he’s feeling. Do we have any emergency money left?”

“Uhh…” Sam rushed Dean’s bag and fumbled with the front zipper, pulling out the folded manilla envelope they kept emergency cash from Dad in. Unfolding and shaking the paper, nothing came out of it. Sam’s forehead creased with the deepening of his frown. “No. I think we used the last of it back in Nashville.”

“This is so DUMB! We need food and money and things! Why do we have no things ever?”

“Dad says he’s close to finding it.”

“He always says that! There’s always something that makes him think he’s gonna find that thingy that killed Mommy. But he’s NOT. He’s always WRONG. Just like how Dean is wrong about this!”

Sam folded the envelope and put it back in Dean’s bag in the exact spot. “We can’t do anything, though.”

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again a moment later. Maybe there’s nothing Sam could or would do. He got upset when Emma stole a coloring book from the supermarket two years ago. If Emma suggested stealing from another grocery store, he’d throw a fit. So she would just have to take care of it on her own. Emma didn’t like the things that their Dad did any more than Sam. She wanted to go to a house, go to school, make friends, and be normal. But they were always the weird kids. They bounced around from school to school and lived in motels and had to do weird rituals like putting salt on the doors and windows. It was exhausting. The closest they’d come to a home was with Pastor Jim, but Dad put those pleads to bed the moment they left.

Dean had become their sole provider and parent, and took the responsibility seriously. Sam and Emma were fed, watched over, scolded, and clothed as though their older brother were the only source of family that they were left with. And Emma didn’t question it. Dad was never around, unless they were driving somewhere. Then they usually just got dropped off and left alone for weeks. Sometimes it was only a few days. Sometimes Dad stayed with them for a day or two, though his attention wasn’t as evenly distributed among his children. Sam always ended up on the short end, while Dean was trained and drilled like an army soldier and Emma had to sit uncomfortably in a chair so John could look at her. Dean explained it to her once; that she looked so much like Mommy and Dad was using her to never forget what Mom looked like. 

Dad’s stares gave Emma the creeps.

Sam must have still been talking when Emma pulled from her thoughts and Sam how his posture had quickly become defensive, his small jawline tight with annoyance. 

“You’re thinking about leaving again, aren’t you?” 

“No. Of course not.”

“Liar.” Sam’s feet locked in place. “You _can't_ lie to me. I know what you’re thinking.”

“We promised not to do that!” Emma shouted, reaching into her bag to throw a rolled up pair of socks at her twin. 

Sam dodged with ease, sticking his tongue out in retaliation. “I had my fingers crossed! And even if I did mean my promise, you just told me that’s what you were gonna do!”

“We need stuff! I’m hungry and Dean is sick!”

“Dean is-!”

Their argument was interrupted by a heavy thud from within the bathroom. They both waited a beat, anticipating a barked “sonuvabitch” to follow, but none came. Sam turned in the direction of the bathroom, taking a step forward slowly to give Dean time to let them know he was fine. Still, the only sound coming from the bathroom was the patter of water droplets on the cracked porcelain.

“Dean?” Sam ventured, knocking twice on the bathroom door. “DEAN?”

Emma approached as well, grabbing hold of the bathroom door and finding it locked. “DEAN!”

“Do…you think he’s hurt?”

“We gotta check.” Emma added urgently twisting the knob again. “Dean! If you can hear us, we’re coming in!”

“How are we gonna do that? The door’s lo-“

Sam’s argument cut out the moment Emma gave a sharp kick to the door. At first the wood refused to give, but the groan of the old frame had to mean that it wasn’t all that strong. She tried again, giving the door another kick before it suddenly fell inwards and hit the ground with a tremendous BANG. The bathroom was steaming, which wouldn’t be unusual save for the curtain half-hanging off its hinges and drawn partially aside to reveal their brother wasn’t standing. Sam and Emma rushed the tub, finding Dean crumpled in a ball on the floor, skin red from hot water beating down on him. Sam lunged and turned off the shower head while Emma hauled Dean upright into a sitting position and gave him a shake.

“DEAN! DEAN, WAKE UP! DEAN PLEASE!” Emma stuck her fingers under his nose, the uneven warm puffs of breath hardly bringing much comfort. 

Sam was at her side a moment later, and together they pulled Dean completely out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel. With him mostly dried off, Sam put Dean’s boxers on him and they lifted him together over to his bed, laying him out and checking his forehead again.

“Well?” Sam demanded impatiently.

“He’s really, really hot. I-I think he needs medicine.”

Sam climbed up on the bed, kneeling at Dean’s other side and feeling his forehead for himself. The concern only worsened in his face, and Sam realized too that they had to do something about it. He shook Dean’s shoulder, tried slapping him once to sharply bring him out of it, but Dean didn’t wake. Sam’s eyes began to well up with tears, and Emma lunged over Dean to shove him.

“If you would’ve just let me go to the store-!”

“I don’t think store medicine would help!” Sam snapped back, tear tracks already visible on his cheeks. “He needs a hospital if he can’t wake up!”

“We don’t know where a hospital is! Can we call Dad?”

“I don’t…we don’t know his phone number.” Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s duffel and dug out his journal, flipping through the pages. Dean was supposed to have the emergency numbers; Dad made him recite a procedure before he left on his trip. But Sam and Emma hadn’t been able to memorize this newest one. It was basically impossible with how often Dad got a new one. “There’s two other numbers in here. Do you think these might be Dad’s?”

“I don’t know. We can try them? We have to do something, he’s not waking up. DEAN! DEEEAAN!” 

“I’m gonna call and you try to wake him up.” Sam scrambled off the bed and wrenched the motel room phone off its receiver and began to frantically dial.

Emma was off the bed a moment or so later, running to the bathroom to get a wet towel to put on Dean’s forehead. Maybe cooling him down would help him wake up. She returned to his bedside a moment later, pressing the tap-water-cold cloth against Dean’s head. He was shivering, even before she’d put the damp cloth against his forehead. His whole body was racked with small, almost indiscernible tremors. 

“No answers!” Sam slammed the motel phone back against the receiver with unnecessary force. He was soon back over on the bed with Dean, watching with wide, concerned eyes as their guardian struggled to fill his lungs. “Maybe…maybe the lady at the front desk knows where the hospital is? Maybe we can call 911?”

“And what are we gonna tell the doctors when they ask for Dad? They’ll put us in in a foster home.”

“Would that be so bad…?” Sam murmured, pulling the bed sheets up to Dean’s chest as though that’d stop the tremors. “I mean, we’d have a new Mom and Dad, and we could go to school-“

“-But we might not be together.” Emma protested. “I dunno what’s worse than that. I can’t…we can’t be separated, Sam.”

“Well what do we do?”

Emma slid down from the bed and picked up her backpack, removing her clothes and leaving nothing left inside of it. She pulled out her baseball cap for when Dad said they needed to look “incog-eto” or something, so that people couldn’t see their faces on cameras. She secured her long, tangled blonde hair back into a ponytail and pulled it through the opening in the back of the cap. Then she picked up her pull over sweater and started for the door.

“W-Wait. Wait. Em, don’t go.” Sam climbed down from the bed and tried to block his twin’s path. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“We gotta do something! And if Daddy isn’t gonna answer the phone, then I’m gonna bring Daddy back.”

“Em-!”

Pushing her brother aside as firmly, but gently, as possible, before stepping outside of the motel and tugging the door shut behind her. This place was what Dean had so aptly named similar empty towns as _“the boonies”_ , nothing in front of them but lots of trees, dirt or gravel roads, and the sounds of crickets and other bugs ( _“they’re called cicadas, Em”_ , Sam chastised her before) the only form of life other than the faint glow of the front desk light. It wasn’t until she had run down the three steps and was in the center of the dirt road and a three-way intersection split that she began to feel the panic settle in. 

Which way could Dad have gone? She peered down one of the roads, but nothing could really be seen in the dark. There were no headlights, no real lampposts, no signs, no anything. And what was she going to do? Just start walking down these pitch black roads and hoping that she would hit civilization, a store, or someone who could help bring them to help or to wherever the heck Dad went. Emma only made it three steps down the road directly dead center before her vision began to blur and her chest started to squeeze. She pulled her lips into her mouth as though she were going to stifle the sob bubbling in her throat. She stumbled, hands catching her in the dirt first and rocks digging tiny cuts and indentations in her palms. 

She drew her knees in closer and pounded a fist on the ground, sputtering out tears and sobs with her nose running down along her cupid’s bow and bringing a gross taste to her mouth. Where was Dad? Where was help? Where was…anybody? What was Emma supposed to do to help her brother when nobody was around, and they had no resources, no friends, no neighbors, nothing! She punched the ground again, and again, and again, but the fifth punch was immediately followed by a sudden crack that made her squeak in pain. She flopped back on her butt in the dirt, dragging her hand close to her chest and cradling it.

Was this going to be her entire life? Chasing down her father in the middle of the boonies in the middle of the night on a dirt road, and nobody would ever be around to help her. Emma wiped her nose on her sleeve with an angry hiccup, desperately trying to reign in her tears. Crying was stupid. Everything about this was stupid. And Dean was going to die because of this stupid nowhere town and his stupid Emma couldn’t get him stupid help from their stupid absent Dad. 

**_Fathers can be so unreliable sometimes, can’t they?_**

Emma immediately leapt to her feet, stumbling back four or five steps and nearly falling to the ground on her butt again. She whirled around, looking for the source, but as far as she could see, not a single person was outside with her.

“H-…Um…I’m a hunter!” She barked into the darkness, pulling her most fierce glare despite her snot-ridden face, tears, and possible broken hand. 

An echo of laughter filled the surrounding forest, and yet no matter where she looked, she could see nothing. She needed to get back inside the motel room. Dean kept a shotgun on hand just in case of emergencies. And hearing voices but not seeing things definitely had to be an emergency.

**_I’m sorry little one. I see you’ve forgotten all about me._ **

A moment of realization hit, and Emma’s bottom lip trembled. The voice was coming from inside her head, not from the outside woods. She started to walk slowly back toward the motel parking lot, crossing over a wood barrier and settled down next to one of the cars before she closed her eyes.

_Who are you?_ She thought to herself. _Why are you in my head?_

**_We met some time ago, child. You agreed to be a host for my fractured form. My name is Jophiel. I’m an archangel, the daughter of your Lord._**

_I don’t have a lord. Came the child’s sharp retort. And why are you here? I thought you were a dream._

**_How I wish that were true. You see, you are the only human that could ever be a vessel to me. And when I was thrown from Heaven, I was separated from my soul and my grace. I found my way to you, and although I am unable to return to my true form, you kept me from falling into the Empty._ **

_What…? You’re an angel? And I’m a…vessel? What’s a vessel? Why are you just talking to me now? How long have you BEEN inside of me?_

**_I do not measure time the same way that you do. When I approached you, you were quite young, only five years old. So that is how long I have been with you. A vessel is a body in which can play host to higher entities such as myself. And I have only recently regained consciousness. I do not know how much longer I will be able to stay conscious. I am still weak. Now then. I’m sure you have many, many more questions, but let us take a look that hand._ **

Before Emma could interrupt with another barrage of questions, she suddenly felt warmth spreading to her injured hand. Pulling it away from her chest, she watched in amazement as a blue-green glow encased the broken bone, twinkles of light in star-dot like form and an all-encompassing sense of calm washed over until the glow had faded. She moved her wrist cautiously, finding no pain in it any longer and eyes widening in surprise. It was healed. Her hand was actually healed!

_Woah! How did you do that?!_

**_I told you. I am an angel. But…I do not have much power left. I was attacked and thrown from Heaven, and as I fell, I was separated from myself. What is here inside you, consciousness and soul, broken grace…this is all I have left. Without you, I would be gone._ **

_So…you can never leave?_

**_You are never…required…to keep me._** Jophiel’s response was hesitant, her melodious voice sharpening to an all-too-familiar serious tone like the one Dad used when she was being reprimanded. **_But as you can see, I can be of some assistance to you. And as I said before, if I am to be cast out, I will not survive._**

_Can you ever be whole again?_

There was a long moment or so of silence before Jophiel’s calm, sweet voice returned. **_Perhaps. I need to be well enough to be as whole as this broken form allows me to be, and I am afraid I am still a great ways away from that. Even healing your simple broken arm has…exhausted me._**

_Oh…well, thank you for fixing it. That was really nice. Dad says we shouldn’t trust anything except each other but…you said you’re an angel and you helped me. So that’s-_ Emma paused and jumped to her feet as she remembered the entire reason she came out here in the first place. Dean! _Jophiel, can…I need one more thing healed. My brother Dean…I think he’s dying. He’s really, really sick and my Dad is nowhere and-_

**_I will do my best. Go inside. When you are ready, call for me, and I will see if I can aid your brother._ **

Jophiel’s presence vanished from her mind as though she’d never been there, though it left behind a cold essence, like her body was only just now registering that she was outside in the brisk March air. She scrambled up the steps to the motel room and wrenched the door open, treading over the salt line and shutting the door without much care. Sam looked up from the bed, his eyes a similar state to his sister’s. He was rubbing his wrist too, and Emma cast her gaze down to the floor.

“You hurt yourself, didn’t you? Did you fall? I felt it so don’t lie to me.”

“I’m okay.” Emma showed her hands and moved them around to prove her point. “But guess what? I have an angel living inside my brain, and her name is Jophiel and she said she can help Dean!”

“A… _what_?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed together across his forehead. “An angel? In your brain? Did you fall on your _head_?”

“No! I’m telling you the truth! She fixed my hand up and she said she’s gonna help!”

“Em-“

“Shut up, Sam. I’m gonna try.” Emma climbed up the bed and knelt beside her eldest brother, removing the wash cloth from Dean’s soaked forehead and letting her ear hover over his mouth. Dean’s breathing rattled in short spurts, like his lungs could only handle an iota of air at a time. He was too hot and shaking, eyes scrunched closed like Sam’s did when he had bad dreams. 

Sam looked away from Dean to meet Emma’s eyes. “He needs a hospital…”

“Just let me try, okay? She said she can help.”

“Yeah okay your _imaginary friend_ is gonna save Dean.”

With a glare at her twin, Emma closed her eyes and reached back into her mind, searching for the warmth that Jophiel had given before. _Jophiel?_

Silence followed, but only for a beat before the warming glow was back, green and beautiful, like a small ball of sunlight basked in a reflective grass-colored hue. **_Yes?_**

_It’s…Emma. Again. You said you would try to help Dean._

**_So I did. Now Emma, this is going to sound scary, but you can trust me. I helped you with your broken hand, and I can probably help Dean. But I need to…take control of you._ **

Emma froze, but she didn’t open her eyes, despite the faint sound of Sam’s voice in the foreground trying to bring her back to attention. _You mean…possess me? Like the bad things do?_

**_When I have finished helping Dean, I will return to the back of your mind and you will come back to yourself again. You will see everything that I do if you wish, but I cannot reach out of your body to heal someone else without taking control of your limbs._ **

_But…you’ll put me back? You promise?_

**_On my Father, I swear it. Even if I did not, I would not have the strength to fight even you to be put back. I will fall back into slumber once again, and you can call on me whenever you need me._ **

_So…you **promise?**_

**_…Yes. I promise._ **

Assured as much as she could prepare for, Emma let go at Jophiel’s instruction, and for a horrifying moment, everything went black. She couldn’t see, feel, move, she couldn’t do anything! Jophiel’s voice was gone, as was her warmth and her glow. Although the darkness felt endless, she was suddenly opening her eyes again…but that was all. It was just her eyes, seeing the things around her, lifting her arms to look at them. Seeing Sam visibly flinching back away from her and her gaze snapping to Dean. He looked even worse from this haze of vision, his face now void of any color and his chest trembling with every weak breath. 

Her hands outstretched toward Dean, one laying on his forehead and the other one his chest. But…she didn’t do that. In fact, it felt like how she imagined puppets felt, like there were strings attached and someone else was making her arms move like this. But she felt the heat of Dean’s body underneath her fingertips, and felt her mouth moving even though she wasn’t thinking the words being said. And then…the glow was back. That blue-green glow that had surrounded her broken hand was now all over Dean’s forehead and his chest, and the words being mumbled under her breath weren’t incoherent at all. They were a prayer. The light was gone and suddenly Dean sat up like he was awakening from the dead, and things were spinning. The whole room was a swirl of colors like mixed up paints, and the darkness came back with a sharp slam, as though someone had literally shut the door on the world.

Something was moving her, back and forth, back and forth like she was stuck in a rowboat on a river and being tossed all over the place. She groaned, swatting at whatever had gripped her and was determined to make her seasick. But the moving was met with a shake, and then a stinging slap to her cheek that finally had her eyes snapping open. 

“Ow! Dean! What’d you do that for?!” Emma demanded as she sat up, unsure as to how she ended up on the floor, and why Dean looked so…

Her eyes widened. “DEAN! DEAN YOU’RE AWAKE!”

Her eldest brother took in a deep breath, his hand on the cheek he’d slapped. The color had finally returned to Dean’s face, as though he’d never been sick in the first place. His green eyes shifted back and forth as he scanned every inch of Emma to make sure there wasn’t a visible injury. She was used to this routine. She shoved him back a bit and threw her arms around his neck, holding on as tightly as possible.

“Hey woah easy-“

“Dean I was so SCARED! Sam and I thought you were gonna DIE and we couldn’t get a hold of ANYBODY and-“

“-Emmy.” Dean interrupted, standing up and setting her on the edge of his bed. Some time must have passed. Sam was nowhere to be seen, and Dean was as alert as though he’d heard something creeping around outside. “Hey. Listen. I know things were bad, and I know you were scared, but…I need to know what you did to fix me.”

“What I did? You’re all better! Why do you care what I did?”

“Because I need to know if you made a deal with something, or if you brought something in here. Sam’s been hiding in the bathroom since I woke up, and people don’t just suddenly come back from the brink of death without no consequences.”

Emma’s arms folded over her chest and she looked away. “I used my angel.”

The tension hit Dean’s body instantaneously, and his hand pulled away from Emma’s cheek as he mirrored her folded arms. “What angel? Tell me everything that you did.”

“I left to try and go find Dad but it was really dark and I don’t know which way he went! So I fell and then I cried and then Jophiel said that she could help and she fixed my hand, see?” Emma spun her wrists the same way she’d done for Sam. “And then she said she could help you, so I let her vessel me and then you were breathing heavy and then…I dunno. I think I fell asleep.”

“You passed out.” Dean answered sharply. “Your eyes turned green for a moment and then you fell off the bed and knocked your noggin’ against the wall. You’ve been out for almost an hour. Dad’s on his way back.”

“Dad?” Emma’s arms unfolded and looked away from Dean. “Are you gonna tell him about Jophiel?”

“Who the hell is Jophiel?”

“My angel, god Dean, do you ever listen? My angel says she lives inside my brain because she was thrown out of Heaven. And she healed me and she healed you. If you tell Dad, he…” Emma’s face paled and she slid down from the bed. “Oh my god. Dad’s gonna kill me.”

“He ain’t gonna kill ya. I would never let him.”

“Dean you can’t tell him!” Emma pleaded. “He kills things like the things inside me!”

The bathroom door creaked open, Sam’s head poking out, brown hair visible first before his hazel eyes. He stepped out slowly, his eyes never leaving Emma. He finally was close enough to stare into her eyes, and she could actually see the relief spreading through him, relaxing his shoulders and followed with a calming exhale. He took Emma’s hand in his and turned to face Dean.

“You can’t tell Dad.”

“You guys, look. Whatever is rattlin’ around in your head, we gotta get it out of there.”

“But she saved you! And Dad doesn’t just get the things out! You told me he kills them. So that means he would kill me too!”

“He ain’t gonna kill you!”

“You don’t KNOW that, Dean!” Sam interjected sharply.

“Oh now you’re on her side? Five minutes ago, I couldn’t even getcha to come out of the bathroom to even check on her!”

“And she’s fine now. Her eyes aren’t green anymore. You’re alive. We’re all okay. It didn’t do anything to us.” 

Dean groaned, his thumb and middle finger pressed into his tightly closed eyes like Emma had seen him do many, many times before when he was frustrated and needed to think. Sam gave Emma’s hand as reassuring a squeeze as he could.

“You didn’t tell Dad about our twin stuff.”

“Your twin stuff isn’t all that unusual, Sammy.”

“It’s unusual enough. And it might make Dad worried. That’s why you tell us to cut it out when Dad is here. So you don’t need to tell Dad about Em. Or her angel. Can’t we at least try to figure it out by ourselves? Maybe she really is just an angel.”

“And maybe she ain’t and it pops up in the middle of the night and kills us.”

“She said she’s been here a long time.” Emma muttered. “And she says she’s really weak.”

“Angels ain’t real!”

“Ghosts and vampires aren’t supposed to be real either!” Emma snapped defiantly. “But they are and we hunt them and you are supposed to protect us!”

“I am protecting you!”

“That means from Dad too!”

Dean’s mouth opened to reply, but quickly closed before the words had a chance to escape. The twins had a point, and knowing how their father had been lately what with the close calls with the demon and the lack of money. There was really no telling how he would actually react to finding out about his daughter’s possible possession. Dean needed time, and John was only an hour or so out from returning to the hotel.

“Alright. Listen, this is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna figure out what the hell this JoJo-“

“-Jophiel.”

“-Yeah. This Jophiel thing is. I’ll do some research on the down low. Until then, we’re just gonna tell Dad that Emma rolled outta bed and hit her head. That’s all. He’s on his way back and he’s gonna want to check you out. We’ll keep this angel thing between us, and we’ll figure it out. But this stays our little secret, alright?”

The twins nodded in unison, and with a final thank-you squeeze, Emma freed her hand from Sam’s and wrapped her arms around Dean’s middle, burying her face in his chest. “You’re the best oldest brother ever.”

“Yeah well…you guys are the best twins ever, so makes it easy for me to be best bro. Even if your twin-mind-talk thing creeps me out.

“You’re just jealous because you don’t have a twin.”

“Yeah, that’s gotta be it.” Dean returned to the door and fixed the salt line Emma treaded on her way back into the motel. “Now you two get into those PJs and get into bed. We wanna make it look like nothing went on but sleepin’ and fallin’ out of bed.”

Emma pulled her hair out of her hat and went to her clothes, stuffing them back into the backpack she’d taken with her outside and pulling on her PJs as quickly as she could manage. As she pulled her hand-me-down Black Sabbath t-shirt down over her chest, she noticed a tiny mark on her hip, a seemingly pointless pattern that she guessed was from falling in the dirt. Either way, she decided not to mention it to Dean for now, pulling the shirt down the rest of the way and scrambling to Dean’s bed, pulling herself up and thrusting her hairbrush in his hand.

“Help brush the knots out, Dean?” She turned her back to him, clearly taking away his right to protest. 

Not that he ever did.

Taking a strand of tangled blonde in his hand, Dean gingerly ran the brush through and started to work out some of the kinks. He was always gentle where Dad was not, and it was something she was always grateful for.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hierarchy in Heaven had shifted over the centuries. Free will was all but extinct, and even the mere thought of stepping outside of your designated role for even a second was met with swift justice, and even possible expulsion from Heaven. Castiel had understood that this was a direct result of Michael losing his sister, but the true details of the event had been lost with time. Some said that Michael himself ordered the attack on Jophiel, and was riddled with guilt at what he had done. Others say that it was rogue angels acting of their own accord in the hopes of appeasing Michael. But whatever the case had been, it was the single most violent angel-on-angel act that had ever happened, and the higher ups ensured that it would never happen again. Castiel could find no protest. He obeyed orders and followed his instructions to the dot, and that’s just how things were. 

And Castiel continued to follow orders, up until the very moment that something penetrated his mind. It was like a prayer designated for him, but his name had never been spoken. He paused his walk, looking around the Heavenly hallway in search of the voice’s source. But there was no one around. He and the other angels had communicated telepathically before, but this seemed to be coming from elsewhere. An unknown source. He was a common angel, not one of the named others that received frequent prayer. Where this voice was coming from was a mystery. Still, he would be remiss to ignore the calling. Castiel stepped to the side so as not to block the hallway and shut his eyes, concentrating solely on the voice.

**_To the angel that can hear my voice, pray for me, for I have fallen._ **

So it wasn’t specifically for him…Castiel was just the one to hear this angel’s call. If she were truly a fallen, there was nothing that he could do for her. It was unlike him to reach out to the Fallen, but if she were still in contact with the other angels, then perhaps she was in need of assistance. 

_Your prayers have reached me, my sister. My name is Castiel. Are you in danger?_

Silence followed, and for quite a time he stood in the hallway with his eyes lightly shut, just awaiting a response from this angel. He would be better suited to pass this along to a higher-ranking comrade, but nobody else seemed to notice, or to be hearing this voice. Their grace bound them together, and yet no other angel had faltered to listen in. Perhaps they were ignoring it.

**_Castiel? I’ve not heard your name before. I am Jophiel, and I was violently cast from Heaven._ **

Castiel hesitated to respond. Jophiel had been missing for centuries, presumed to have fallen into The Empty and forever separated. _Jophiel is dead._

**_So my brother’s followers would have all Heavenly hosts believe. But it is truly I. With what little of myself remains, I am bound to my human vessel to stay alive._ **

_A vessel? I do not understand. If you truly are Jophiel and have Fallen, how are we able to speak?_

**_Castiel. You’re young, are you not? New. Inexperienced. I am an archangel. And you have been the only voice I have managed to reach since I fell to this Earth. I am in need of your help._ **

_Michael would be far more-_

**_-I cannot trust my brother. I cannot trust anyone. But I have no choice. Help me, and I shall grant you powers beyond your grasp._ **

Castiel opened his eyes a moment and saw a comrade staring at him. He nodded his hello, then proceeded to continue down the hallway to his personal living space. He would be remiss to call it a ‘home’, but it was the closest thing they had to moments of quiet and a ‘bedroom’. Because they did not require sleep, Castiel’s room was adorned with items he’d taken as tokens for helping his charges, or items that had been passed down by higher-ranking angels in order to aid in his duties. Aside from that, a visual pool similar to all others sat in the center of his room. Though his space had no doors, it was generally acknowledged that one angel did not enter another’s sanctum without permission (excluding any archangels or higher-ups, who required none). 

Castiel’s space had been customized quite similar to a forest he had been tasked to a century and a half ago. A prophet-to-be had gone missing during a hike with his family through White River National Forest, and Castiel had been the one assigned with guiding him home. Along the venture, Castiel had taken to the surroundings, but most specifically had been the beautiful Maroon Lake. The surface of the water was so crystal clear it reflected the North and South Maroon’s onto its surface, and make for the most captivating reflection he had ever laid eyes on. The forest was at its peak beauty during the fall, when the trees began to change colors and the scenery looked like an exquisite painting from the country’s most influential art periods. Reds and greens, oranges and yellows bounced off of the surface, mirroring what Castiel had always envisioned as God’s true beauty. This is what their Lord had wanted all people to see, and to understand His true vision. Castiel admired it greatly, and modeled his ‘room’ after its beauty.

Sitting down in front of the lake, Castiel drew his legs up underneath him and touched the surface of the water, casting away the Maroons reflected at the surface and murmuring a prayer under his breath. As the Maroons faded into a swirl of colors like smeared wet paint, darkness and a gray-like background replaced it. The environment around him stilled as he peered closer into the reflective surface, finally clearing into a more comprehensible image. Like he was watching from the room itself, Castiel was able to see clearly the form that Jophiel had forcibly taken in order to survive. The room was dark, but the body sitting upright with her legs hanging over the edge of the bed was basked in a soft grace-like glow that Castiel was all-too familiar with. If this child was not hosting Jophiel, she was certainly blessed by an angel. Maybe even protected by one. Castiel leaned closer over the lake’s surface to get a better look at this young girl. Barely touching the water’s surface allowed him to see her more clearly, brown-gold hair that appeared to have never been cut cascading down her back with gentle twists and a few static flyaways standing upright. 

For just one moment, the hazel eyes met his, and Castiel shrunk back away as they pierced through him and struck his core like a bolt of lightning. The hazel faded and became a vibrant, tell-all green-blue indicative and specific to the angel Jophiel. She was seeing him as though he were there beside her, but the angel was quick to dissipate away inside the child once more. 

“You’re using a child as your vessel?” Castiel demanded aloud of the reflection, hovering back over the water’s surface to keep his eyes on the girl.

**_I had no choice, Castiel._** Jophiel’s response was still within his mind, but the child gave no indication that she had heard either of them, her pale-colored legs lightly swinging from the edge of the bed. **_She is my one true vessel, and although it is unfortunate she has had to be so soon, she has been a most accommodating host. I simply am laying dormant. I do not have the strength to fully possess her. She has merely been used as a host body so that I may stay alive._**

Castiel still said nothing for several moments, digesting everything he had been told so far. Jophiel was alive, and privately needed his aid. Not reporting this would be a direct violation of their hierarchy, especially when concerning his Lord’s one true daughter. This should be reported to his superiors, or at the very least, to Michael himself.

**_Castiel! Jophiel’s voice suddenly became sharp, almost commanding. If you report that we have been in contact, there is a good chance that those who tried to have me killed before would hunt this vessel down in order to retrieve what is left of me. This holds the same for Michael’s men. There is no telling what could happen._ **

“I am not going to disobey our rules to keep your secrecy. I do not know what happened in the past, but if you were thrown from Heaven or you were exiled by your brother, you are considered dead here. And knowing that you are not truly dead and refusing to report it would lead to punishment for me as well."

**_I am not asking you to break the rules. I am asking you to pretend as though they are not there._ **

“That is still treason.”

**_She will be killed._ **

The angel once again did not respond immediately. He cast his gaze back to the surface of his lake and watched as the girl slid down from a bed he had not noticed she was sharing with someone else. A brother, or so it would seem. She made her way into the bathroom, and Castiel was prepared to look away until he saw she was simply fetching water from the sink in her cupped hands. He could not stop watching this human, the way her frizzy hair stood up like static while she moved, and the tension in her limbs and back even as she only sipped water from her cupped palms. Her hand reached out to stop the running tap, drying both palms on a nearby hanging towel. The child leaned closer, staring at her own reflection. He could see the conflicting flecks of green and brown in her eyes, no trace of Jophiel’s emerald greens present. This child was herself as wholly as she could see in the bathroom mirror. 

She looked as though she had been crying recently, if the irritated red skin around her irises and beneath her bottom lash line was any indicator. The girl’s hands raised and brushed small strands of hair out of her face, the hip length locks shifting slightly while she moved. She stared harder into the bathroom mirror, palms bracing on the edge of the sink. What was she doing? It was as though this child were trying to peer into her very core and see herself, or see what was lingering inside of her. Castiel hadn’t realized how intently he was watching her every move until his face was nearly broaching the surface of the lake. He drew back some, Jophiel’s voice filling his mind once again.

**_Her name is Emma Winchester._** Jophiel’s voice had softened tremendously since he’d last heard her. **_She is only nine years old. Would you really let this poor human girl suffer at the hands of rouge angels or Michael himself when her only crime was accommodating the angel who begged for her life?_**

“…You…made that choice for her.” Castiel stammered, but there was no strength behind his words. “Whatever is done to her will not have been my doing.”

**_But you will have sealed her fate._**

“There is no certainty that they would have her killed.”

**_Her family are hunters. Her father, her brothers in training, even Emma herself has begun to fall into its lifestyle._ **

There was little that Castiel could argue with. He could report it, but there was almost an assurance that this girl would not be allowed to live, especially if Jophiel’s Falling had been a deliberate and unforeseeable attack. The risks outweighed his duty, and the conflict in his heart was being buried underneath this girl’s beautiful eyes. She was not the first human he encountered with blonde hair and hazel eyes, but there was something about Emma that caused him to feel, to want to reach out and do nothing but offer his undivided protection. Perhaps it was her piercing gaze, the struggle he could nearly map out just in the reflection of her eyes in the mirror. 

**_You feel it too, don’t you Castiel? The pull that this child has. I believe that is why my prayer came to you. I believe that you are connected to this girl too. You will want to save her._ **

Emma’s eyes suddenly shifted in the reflection, and although she was still reflected in the mirror, her gaze deadlocked on Castiel. The angel tensed under her stare, knowing that there was no probable way that she could see him. Not unless Jophiel was guiding her, whispering in this girl’s mind that she was being watched. But how could her eyes find him with such ease? Castiel did not have emotions, he did not feel things, but with this girl’s eyes boring a hole into his core, he certainly felt something. It was an unbreaking tension right in his chest, like what he’d imagined not being able to breathe would do to the humans. He had seen many take their last breaths, the way their chest muscles flexed and stuttered as their human lungs fought for breathable air. He had never felt that pain, but he was feeling it now. 

The child stepped away from the bathroom sink, her face falling out of the reflection and allowing Castiel to… “breathe” so to speak. The pain in his chest ebbed away, right until she turned around and was staring at him again. Even if he wanted to back away, the girl’s gaze held him in place while she stepped closer, extending a hand up and in his direction. This was impossible. There was no way she could break the barrier of her world and into his sanctum. But she further extended her hand until it was completely outstretched, reaching up from underneath the reflection in the lake and just barely broaching the surface.

The lake water rippled. Castiel was certain now more than ever that this child had to be protected.

“What would you have me do?” Castiel asked of the fallen archangel, his hand extending out to the water where Emma’s finger had only just so slightly retreated under the reflective lake water. “If I agreed to help you?”

**_I believe that the parts of me that were torn apart also fell. My consciousness clung to a portion, an eighth of myself, which is how I am speaking to you now. If these other parts of me fell to the Earth, they are likely hidden. I would need you to find these blessed items, these fractions of my soul, and bring them to me._ **

“And how would you propose I manage this? I am only away from Heaven when I am assigned a task.”

**_I suggest you find a way to search while doing your work. Multi-task, Castiel. If you want this girl to live, you will find a way._**

“What assurance do I have that she will be safe?” Castiel retorted, flinching away from the water as he had nearly broached the surface and touched this girl’s hand. 

His question was met with a condescending laugh. **_I am a part of her! If she dies, I die as well. There is no other suitable vessel. I have searched, and none can contain me._**

“And after? When you make your return and they discover you have been hiding within your vessel?”

**_We can handle that situation at the time. As of right now, you have no assurances. Only my word._**

Emma was still reaching out, her hand extending higher as she stretched onto the tips of her toes and broke the surface of the lake with all five fingers. Castiel couldn’t fathom how this was happening. Was it the work of Jophiel to force Castiel into wanting to aid her? Was it a trick of his mind, or was this girl something unheard of? It had to be Jophiel’s doing, but he didn’t dare ask her. It would be unwise to let the archangel know his doubts. Despite an affirmed belief that he should not connect to this human any further, Castiel’s form had other ideas, reaching out across the lake once more and halting just before the small hand. She was still seeing him, as clearly as though he had appeared before her, those damnable eyes yearning to find the connection. Perhaps she could not see his face, not see the way he extended his own hand. 

Delicately, their fingers finally met on the lake water, and Castiel’s concerns of disobedience melted at her touch. He had never actually felt the touch of another human’s hand before, and now more than ever he wished to hold onto it for eternity. Her skin was soft at the palm and coarse at the tips, small bumps and various bruising adornments littered her fingers. For a brief, horrifying moment, the human’s hand pulled away in a sudden jerk back under the surface. Emma recoiled slightly, scanning the surface of the lake as though questioning exactly what it was she had felt. But as her eyes landed on Castiel again, regardless if she was seeing him in his true form or not, her hand returned, the unsteady limb breaking the surface once more.

_This isn’t possible…_ Castiel thought to himself. _No human can see my true form. No human could accomplish this._

**_Maybe. Or maybe not. But you will never know if you do not help me._**

“I would not even know where to start.” Castiel murmured as he drew his hand away the same time the human did, an emptiness settling into him like he had been separated from Heaven itself. The child finally looked away from the water and disappeared from his view. The lake water returned to normal, the Maroons back at the surface and the colors returning to his ‘room’, though notably duller than they had been before. 

Be my ears to the world, and listen for whispers of my Grace. It may have absorbed into objects, or into humans or animals. But you will have to search. Humans are drawn to it, and blessed items or people are celebrated quite vocally. Find them. Bring them to me. And tell no one what you are doing.

Even if Castiel had not been so fascinated with this human, he felt as though his options were truly limited. He would do as requested. For the time being.

“I will do my best.” The angel relented as he stood up and moved away from the lake.

**_Your assistance will be rewarded, Castiel. And when I am wholly restored, I will prevent any backlash from befalling you for your aid. But with the power I will bestow to you, none would dare retaliate._ **

The sanctum disappeared in a white puff behind him as Castiel re-entered one of Heaven’s many hallways, distracted by the sensation of warmth still lingering on his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, lead feedback if you're willing, positive and negative is appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've re-written this chapter three times now -__-

Though Jophiel had promised to remain dormant, Emma found the angel’s voice constantly chiding her for petty acts of crime in order to survive. By the time she was twelve, Emma was nearly an expert at pickpocketing, and Jophiel didn’t hesitate to voice her opinion. It was evident that Jophiel had recovered some from her initial fall, and as time passed on, her presence felt almost heavier on Emma’s body, as though she were bearing the true weight of another being on her back. If even a fraction of the angel was this heavy to bear, Emma couldn’t imagine what’d it be like to be riding bitch to a full-blown archangel. But the conversations were kept to a minimum about it, especially as Dean poured through books and notes to find anything that he could about angels. The main source was biblical, which offered little to no insight on what they could do in order to remove her. Jophiel made it sound like Emma had a choice to bear her, yet she was the one finding dirt on the soles of her feet in the mornings as Jophiel took control and wandered about. Emma wasn’t aware of these passages of time, they primarily happened at night, and she was never formally told. But her body carried the obvious signs of wear: sore legs from walking, beads of sweat from the heat, the stench of the outdoors burrowed in her skin. When confronted, the archangel said she was searching for her Grace when Emma’s body was just “laying there, not in use”. Jophiel seemed to pick her times well when it wouldn’t disturb her brothers or her father wasn’t around, but the charade could only keep up for so long if they weren’t careful.

John had been acting strange around her, and Emma began to worry that her father could sense how off things were. Dean waved away her concerns as he always did, leaping to their Father’s defense with platitudes of John’s exhaustion or frustrations, the same sort of story she’d been hearing about her whole life. Her tolerance for it was wearing thin, but she bit back her insubordinations, unlike Sam. Pouring over library books, textbooks, online assignments and virtual classes, Sam surpassed the entire family when it came to raw knowledge. Having that to his advantage, he often took time to point out where John’s train of thought was beginning to derail, and John would have lashed out if not stilled by Dean’s protective stance. Sam still dealt with the reprimand however, but Dean was the one to dish it out. Sam refused to take it, which led to numerous fights and skipped out motel damage bills and uncomfortable car trips in silence. Despite the arguing over their father, the children had never been closer. Dean had molded into an almost ideal father-figure, though the rugged teen denied that he was anything of the sort as he made sure they were fed, hydrated, and clothed at all times, even at the sacrifice of his own comforts. It wasn’t any different than how it’d been when they were younger, but now that the twins were growing, Dean took to more desperate measures to make sure his brother and sister were taken care of.

The twins repaid in kind, with Sam’s silver-tongued abilities and big brains able to come up with plans to get them the things that they needed, and Dean and Emma to play those out down to the last letter. It was a ridiculous routine of petty crime, but necessary if they hoped to live through this ongoing “phase” of John’s life. After the trio had been reduced to nearly skin and bones, Emma had decided enough was enough. With theory from Sam and application from Dean, Emma began pick-pocketing at nearly ten years old. She started out small, playing off of sympathetic store-goers who were ready to rush to the aid of a lonely small girl crying out that she was lost. Dean would play his part as well, coming to her rescue and thanking the target while Emma swiped out any cash she could find and returned the wallet. As time went on, she found a slight of hand was a much easier tactic and didn’t involve incorporating her brothers. She’d been caught on a handful of occasions early on, but mall security released her into Dean’s custody with a condescending reprimand about her behavior and not much else given her age. It was simpler to take the entire wallet and replace it with an object of similar shape, but with Jophiel’s belittling comments chirruping in her head about sins and just a general sense of guilt, she continued with snaking out only what she needed and returning the wallet. They couldn’t use credit cards anyways.

John wasn’t around enough to see that his children had managed to get new clothing and stay happily fed without complaint, otherwise there would likely be hell to pay about clean-living from one of the world’s most sneaky hustlers. Hypocrisy was John’s forte. With Dean closing in on 18, John began to take him on more and more hunts, which left the twins to their own devices and their own beds. Emma found sleeping next to Sam, especially after all this time, was about the only way she could sleep, and Sam agreed. They curled up in a double bed together and didn’t need to watch their space. With a single look they could exchange a conversation, were more in-tune to how the other was feeling, and often talked about the days that they would have a real life despite their differing opinions on what that would look like. The nights that John actually spent in the motels were painful, Sam and Emma forced to sleep with distance between them and Dean crammed into the bed beside John who snored and thrashed. Nobody slept well those nights. But the one evening that Sam had curled into Emma’s side and John had seen, Sam had been pulled out of the bed by his ankles and screamed at about personal space as though it’d been his father he’d snuggled up with. The twins never made the mistake of sleeping close when he was around again.

Nothing was more uncomfortable than when John tried to act like a true parent, because his parenting style differed with all three. Dean was his soldier and so John adapted an authoritarian tone, reminding Dean of his place and his purpose as an all-encompassing idea of teaching. Sam was belittled and spoken down to, letting him know that the life he dreamed of outside of hunting was non-existent, and that if it wasn’t for everything John had “done for them”, Sam wouldn’t even have his books or his brains to retaliate. Emma was her father’s porcelain doll, spoken to in a soft tone and kept bunkered in always. Even on times when he would take Sam with for a hunt, Emma was left behind for protection. Nothing compared to how infuriating it was to be left alone, and it was then that she forced herself to learn. She studied the supernatural books, she did research, she learned each of their weapons and familiarized herself with all of them. With nothing to do day in and day out, she knew how to dismantle and reassembled a .45 better than she knew general mathematics. Dean agreed that she needed to learn, and took the time to show her better hand-positioning, taught her the weight of the weapon and the best way to square her shoulders for shooting. It was an egregious learning curve, but Dean treated her like an equal and that her life could (and likely would) depend on her ability to perform these skills well. Sam stuck to the basics, showing mostly a disinterest or taking to reading about it rather than put it into practice. The sparring times were the best, learning how to hand-to-hand combat worked out their familial frustrations but taught them a useful skillset for all of these apparent dangers they were supposed to encounter. The boys had seen them on their ride-alongs with John, but Emma had yet to find an application for any of it.

Emma grew accustomed to having Jophiel around to talk to when she was alone, though the archangel said very little. It seemed to be that she stayed around long enough now to do whatever it was she did in the middle of the night with Emma’s body. Somehow, she’d always made it back by daybreak, but there were nights that Emma awoke, unable to move or breathe, like sleep paralysis had seized hold and she was forced to watch someone else piloting her body. Jophiel stopped asking after some time; she no longer needed nor cared for Emma’s opinion, and Emma had no ideas on how she would stop it. Unfortunately, after saving Dean’s life and healing her broken wrist, the archangel was more of a blessing to have around than a curse. Thankfully there’d not been much more injuries after that, and whatever bumps and bruises John came back with would be left untouched. She didn’t clue Sam and Dean in on her midnight escapades or the exhaustion, but Dean seemed to have a sixth sense for when things were off, and typically spent the following morning returning to research on angels. It was unlikely they were ever going to find a way to remove her, and it wasn’t as though Jophiel were eager to leave. She mentioned on more than one occasion that Emma was her true vessel, and while she was here on Earth, she would play host. What became most worrisome was as Jophiel recovered, Emma felt less and less like herself. It was a power unlike anything she’d heard of or been exposed to, and resisting these nighttime trips were nothing but taxing, and ultimately led to her lamenting.

This was what led her here, standing outside the motel she’d disappeared from days prior. Emma fished the burner out of her pocket and thumbed through the missed calls again. Dean, Dean, Dean…and Dean again. There were at least eight more phone calls all accompanied by voicemails she immediately deleted. Whatever sort of rage he’d left stored in it would be incomparable to what was about to come. She trudged up the motel steps with aching sore feet and patted her pockets down for a key. Finding it in her right pocket, she grumbled to herself damn angel can remember the motel key but can’t remember a pair of shoes.

**I fail to see the purpose of constantly wearing shoes.**

“Of course you do, you can just heal up while you’re running me ragged.” Emma grunted out loud as she pressed her shoulder to the motel door and let herself in.

Whatever clipped argument the angel fired back with was blatantly ignored as she finally crossed into the motel and shut the door behind her. Things went from bleary to sharp-stock clarity in an instant as she was immediately seized by her neck and spun around, sore back slamming up against the door and John’s furious expression mere inches away from her face. There was little to not pressure at her throat, just enough to hold her in place as if the fear pressing into her spine wasn’t enough, but Dean clawed at his father’s arms anyways to try and pull him back.

“Dad get OFF of her!”

Dean met the wrong end of John’s free hand, an open palm catching him across the face and delivering enough of a shock that Dean stumbled back two or three steps. Emma could taste the alcohol oozing through her father’s pores and around his bearded face, cringing in expectation of her own come-uppins.

“Where the hell have you been?” John demanded, releasing his hand so Emma was free to slink away into the corner between the door hinges and adjoining wall, but not far enough to flee. Dean was immediately blocked by John’s body, and he didn’t dare lash out twice.

“Out.” Emma spat in response, alarm bells ringing even before her father’s backhand made contact with her jaw.

“Dad!” Dean protested immediately, boldly grabbing onto John’s shirt to yank him back. “STOP! ENOUGH!”

“I want you to tell me—” John started, throwing his shoulders back to get Dean off of him as her eldest brother created distance between the pair. “—Where the HELL you were and who the HELL you think you are talking to me like that!”

“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.” Emma rubbed at her stinging face where she’d been caught by the hard metal wedding band. “You weren’t supposed to be back for two weeks.”

“This what you do when I’m out, huh? Just sneak around and don’t answer no calls or no nothing?” John freed himself from Dean’s hold with another fierce lunge and for the second time Emma’s back hit the wall.

“Get OFF ME!” Emma shrieked, John grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her in closer. “LET GO!”

“WHERE WERE YOU?!”

“DAD!” Sam’s voice joined the frenzy and as her brothers tugged John back and he had a death grip in her hair, Emma stumbled forward, knocking all four unbalanced Winchesters to the floor and crawling off her father while she had the chance, wrenching her hair free with enough force to leave stray strands of blonde behind in his clenched fist.

“GET---RRRR!!! OFF! OFF OF ME, DAMMIT! TELL ME WHERE YOU WERE, MARY!”

The room fell quiet instantaneously, save for the grunting and puffing from their drunken father rolling on the floor to try and get back to his knees. Sam and Dean both had taken a step back, chests rising and falling out of sync as they caught their breath and waited for what would happen next. Emma’s chest clenched, pulse rising higher and pushing into her cheeks, reddening her face. She felt the tears beginning to sting, immediately extending her sleeve and wiping them away before they dared to make a scene. John was on his knees finally, pushing upright with enough force that Sam stepped forward to pin him in place again before John jerked his arm away.

“…Dad….” Dean’s bruised voice was another blow to the chest. “That’s not—”

“—Emma.” John interrupted gruffly, waving at Dean to cut him off. “I meant Emma.”

“Mom’s been dead for sixteen years.” Sam’s cold tone slashed through John’s labored drunken breathing.

“I know that.”

The heartache on Dean’s face was more than enough evidence for Emma that he felt how John felt. It was what she’d worried was buried underneath her brother’s concerns for her, that he wished Emma was actually Mary. Dean talked at length about her to keep Mary’s memory fresh in his mind; the color of her hair, the way her voice sounded at 4am when she was rocking Sammy, breakfast at nine on Sundays and a killer smile and a take-no-shit attitude. All those uncomfortable silences Emma could feel John staring into her very core, and the longing glances Dean stole into her backside while she slept. They saw Mary in her. But moreover, Dean and John wished that she was Mary.

Dean could read the pain in his sister’s face. “Em—”

“—Don’t.” She snapped, arms folding defensively tight over her chest and taking a small step back, nearly tripping over the corner of the bed.

“Should never’of been Mary.” John muttered as he finally sat up, dropping his ass on the bed with forearms resting on his thighs, not looking at any of his children.

Even Dean’s aggressive tone was laced with pain. “Dad, shut up.” 

The damage was done, knock-out complete as Emma was powerless against her own insecurities vocalized by her father and unrefuted by her brother. She didn’t dare look over at Sam who’d try to compel her to stay with a look that said ‘don’t leave me’. She could make out his warm red presence in the back of her mind, trying to pry into her consciousness to talk to her, to convince her to stay. Without bothering to grab her things, Emma turned to the door, picking up her shoes along the way, and left the motel without a word to any of them. It slammed shut hard enough to rattle the neighbor’s door, and as she tugged her shoes on one at a time hopping down the steps, Emma found herself once again being overwhelmed by tears. The motel door opened behind her and the mere sound pushed the Winchester into an aching sprint, heading for town and away from the Dean’s hollering voice trying to draw her back home. She could faintly make out the pounding of Dean’s boots from not far behind her, but the harder she pushed, the easier it was to get lost into the bustle of the early morning crowd.

Tellico Plains had a population next to nothing, but it was more than enough of a crowd and enough shops opening that Emma could lose her brother with ease. With enough distance along with ducking and weaving, she was able to discern Dean’s built figure looking around the cars to try and spot her. She plopped into a chair at the diner’s front table, the hostess greeting her with a smile and a glass of water. Emma couldn’t muster up a return courtesy smile, tightening her grip on her jean jacket with clenched fingers desperate to quell the tears.

“Rough morning?” The hostess bemused as she filled Emma’s coffee cup instead.

“The roughest.” Emma managed, hating the bitter taste of diner coffee but electing to load it up with cream and sugar until it could make her teeth rot.

“Any of it got to do with that fella you were runnin’ from?”

Though she wanted to tell the hostess to mind her own damn business, Emma nodded. “My brother.”

The hostess, Harriet by her nametag, wrinkled her nose in mock-disgust. “Brothers can be the worst. What’d he do to deserve the duck ‘n run?”

This lady was god damn nosey. “He’s just suffocating me. I needed some space.”

“Family. It’ll kill ya. What are you havin’?”

“I’ll just stick with coffee. Thanks.”

“Sure love. Holler if you need me. My name’s Kayla.”

Kayla-Not-Harriet walked further along the breakfast line to tend to people who’d just arrived. Emma grabbed for the sugar rack, opening three packets at once with her teeth and stirring them in vigorously. Nothing would make this coffee taste any better for her, but she was damned determined to wait it out for Dean to stop hunting around for her.

**If you let me take care of it—**

_Not now._ Emma snapped wordlessly. _You’re the one that caused all this._

**If we could leave, we would no longer have restrictions on your time.**

_Keeping myself with them is the only thing that stops you from driving this car. You’re not taking full possession of me._

**This is tedious.** The angel countered. **If you truly wanted me gone, you would help me locate my grace.**

_You just said you needed a host. Not that I had to be your errand boy too._

**I was anticipating faster results. You are my true vessel, but I am strong enough now to find one that could be a decent substitute. And would be grateful to be a host to the Lord’s daughter no matter the cost!**

_Go find them, then. Get lost. Get the hell out of my body._

Silence followed, and Emma took the opportunity to pour creamer into her coffee just before her right hand gave a violent twitch, knocking the water glass nearly completely over.

_What the fuck was that??_

**Never in my life have I had to endure a more frustrating, insubordinate, disgraceful, thieving, sinful host. All those books you pour over trying to get rid of me have taught you nothing about who I am and what I’m capable of!**

_You’re half an angel!_ Emma retorted, quickly making her way out of the restaurant and looping around the back by the dumpsters to avoid any other scenes from being made. _Not even half! You’re an eighth of an angel!_

**Of all the people that could be my vessel, I am disgusted at what I have been forced to play secondary. I have been far too giving with the freedoms I’ve allowed while you were temporarily accommodating. You do not have to be willing any longer.**

Emma lurched forward against the dumpster, her arms, legs, back spasming with pain that radiated from her head while a haze of angry blue-green began to warp over her mind. The tendrils of angel rage wrapped around every nerve, every crease and crack in her brain and fought for control, ignoring Emma’s attempts to push back at it. She sank to her knees, vision tunneling with little specks of black and white popping in the center of her eyes. She tried to fight back against it, mental barbs throwing up defenses that desperately attempted to push back. If Jophiel gave any indication that she was truly struggling to keep up, Emma was unable to sense it. Her arms went out first, Jophiel seizing control and using them to push their body upright.  
“No…no…” Emma mumbled weakly. “Stop…”

The tendrils froze their assault for only half a second before they continued, and Emma clenched her eyes shut tight, gripping the ground uselessly beneath her fingers.

“Stop…stop…STOP! STOP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

The blue and green jagged edges stopped at her command, and the archangel’s surprised intake of breath was enough to motivate Emma to continue. The barbs lost their hold, retreating back against Jophiel now.

**What are you doing?! ENOUGH! STOP THIS AT ONCE!**

"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" Emma screamed with all her might, her own surge of strength finding purchase in the attack and combating Jophiel with all her strength. The retaliation worked, fighting back so ferociously that the weight the archangel had been impressing down upon her was lifting from her weary shoulders. Harder and harder, until finally Jophiel screamed, forcing Emma to throw her head back and an explosion of white-blue light burst from her mouth, eyes, hands and into the sky. Just like that…the weight was gone. Emma dropped onto her knees again and sucked air desperately and raggedly into her lungs, an unwelcome coldness seeping into her bones as though she’d lost the very light of her soul with the expulsion of the archangel. At least…that had to be what that was, right?

 _Jophiel?_ Emma tested mentally, trying to reach for where the angel had spent the last eleven years in the back (and sometimes front) of her mind. But nothing. Nothing but the presence of her own self-controlled consciousness was there, and it left her feeling surprisingly…hollow. She eased herself back against the wood walls of the neighboring bar, knees drawn up to her chest and shaking breath accompanied by a twinge of tears in her eyes again. _Jophiel?_

Silence.

“Emmy?” Dean’s voice made her leap to her feet, swallowing down the knot in her throat wanting to bubble over with sobs. “Wait, wait just a damn second—”

“I know, Dean! Alright? I know!” Emma cleared the tears from her face with her jacket sleeves. “I know you—”

“—You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’, Em. You didn’t let me get a damn word in—”

“—Because I know what you’re going to say! You wish I was dead and Mom was here!”

“That ain’t true at all.” Dean took cautious steps closer, but once assured that she wasn’t prepared to run again, Dean reached out and pulled Emma into his arms, holding her tight against his chest with her jacket balled up into his fists. “There is no one, you hear me? No. One. Nothing, and nobody that I would ever trade you or Sammy for. You are my everything, don’t you know that?”

Emma couldn’t respond, the well of emotions she’d tried so hard to bury overrode the fight to hold them back, and she buried her face in Dean’s shoulder, sobs breaking through her throat and only stifled ever so slightly in Dean’s leather jacket. Her legs threatened to give out and the coldness at her core caused tremors, but Dean’s arms were like a lifejacket, keeping her upright and afloat.

“I would never, ever, never want Mom back if it meant that I had to lose you. And if you honestly thought I felt like that then you’re an idiot. And if you’re running like this because you’re listening to dad, then you’re an extra big idiot.”

Dean’s hand comfortingly pressed to the back of her head, clenching her hair gingerly, in a way that was far more grounding than it was anything else. And they stood there for what felt like twenty minutes as Emma cried her frustrations and relief into Dean’s shoulder. Dean took it in stride as he always did, nothing but comforting reassurances until Emma could pull herself together again. Red-twinged eyes strung when she blinked, but she finally released her death-grip on Dean and sniffed away the snot threatening to fall.

“Gross.”

“Shut up.” Emma muttered. “The uh…the angel’s gone.”

“For real? How?”

“I…don’t know. I just told her to get out. And I pushed back, and she was gone.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“I can’t feel her anymore. It’s like being wrapped up in a weighted blanket and then suddenly throwing it off and stepping outside in the cold.”

“Maybe a hot shower would help?” Dean offered, extending his arm for Emma to take. “We can talk about this part later. You look like hell.”

“Feel like it too. But…what about Dad?”

“I’m throwing his ass out until he gets it together. Pretty sure I heard him storming out after I left, though. Thought Sammy was right behind me too but I think I lost him in the hustle and bustle.”

“We should probably find him.” Emma managed, taking Dean’s patiently waiting arm and weaving hers into it.

“ ‘Scuse me!” A voice interrupted them before they could even take a step out of the back alley. “Either of you seen a watch? Gold linked band, cracked face?”

“Sorry pal, haven’t seen it.”

“Damn.” The man muttered, hands on his hips. Nothing about the man seemed out of the ordinary, typical jeans and button-down copper shirt, running a hand through his graying hair. His skin sagged slightly around his mouth and eyes, and pale calloused looking hands braced at his sides while his boots scuffed through the dusty alley. “Some kid swiped it off the bathroom sink while I was washin’ my hands. Thought he might’ve run back here.”

“Can’t help you.” Dean’s usual gruff tone returned, the typical Winchester don’t-bother-us posture accompanying it.

“You sure you ain’t seen it?”

“We haven’t seen any watch, man.” Dean repeated, releasing his hold on Emma’s arm and taking a small step forward, his left shoulder now blocking her torso. Emma watched Dean’s fingers slowly reach for the gun handle tucked into the back of his pants.

The tips of Dean’s fingers started away from the handle with an irritated hiss. Dean let out a pained yelp, the weapon hitting the ground behind his legs. The man had instantaneously become unordinary, blinking sharp jaundice-colored eyes at them with a smug, sinister grin and an outstretched hand.

“Is that how you treat people in need? Shoot first, ask questions later?”

Dean made a move to grab the gun but his fingertips only managed to graze it before the man’s power gripped him. Emma screamed, trying to grab Dean’s foot as he was lifted off the ground and body clenching together like he was going into seizures.

“Stop! STOP! Don’t hurt him! Put him down!”

“Sure thing.” The man chuckled, and with an easy flick of the wrist Dean flew across the alleyway and hit one of the building walls, crumbling unconscious before he even collapsed in a heap on the ground. Emma only managed a step in Dean’s direction before a similar invisible force grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides, and dragging her into the man’s awaiting outstretched hand. The limb closed around her neck, immediately cutting off her air supply with little to no effort on his part. Emma kicked out madly, struggling to catch a breath and squirming every which way to find some purchase on the ground to fight back. But she was lifted away from the ground with such ease that the gravity of the situation lifted with her. She tried calling out for Dean, for somebody to help, but any sound that she could make tangled in her rasping throat.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you know.” The man murmured, pulling her closer as her vision spiraled into black and white. “It’s just more fun that way.”

Kicks weakening, Emma was forced to relent to the crushing pain in her neck and head, lungs spasming for even the tiniest breath of air before the darkness enclosed on her like switch.

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Assisting the fallen Jophiel had been far more of an undertaking task than Castiel was prepared for. He wasn’t like his superiors with an endless amount of power at his disposal. Limited to whatever tasks he was assigned was the extent of his abilities, and yet he needed more time to search for Jophiel’s missing grace. It went against every instinct of self-preservation that he had, and yet he couldn’t find the willpower to resist the assignment he had been given from the archangel. Whatever familial dispute had occurred had recreated a hierarchy in Heaven that left no room for insubordination. To go to such extremes as punishment by death for disobedience, Castiel couldn’t fathom that the attack on Jophiel’s life had been intentional. He brought these revelations to Jophiel upon retrieving the third missing fragment of her grace. They met in the late hours of the night in densely forested areas where they would not be seen. It was difficult to disassociate the face of Jophiel from the child that she was using as her vessel, but Castiel couldn’t help but stare. The child had gotten bigger from when he’d last seen her this close, longer blonde-brown hair, wider eyes and a longer nose. Her hips were far more defined, longer legs and firm, pinked skin. It had to be a trick of his vessel’s subpar night vision. Time could not have possibly gone this quickly.

“Have you found it?” Jophiel demanded, extending out a hand expectantly.

“Just a piece.” Castiel responded, reaching into his trenchcoat and withdrawing a vial of airy blue light. “It was with a Faith Healer in South Holland.”

“Give it here. Now.” Jophiel’s impatient tone had Castiel reaffirming his grip on the vial.

“I cannot continue to act behind the backs of my superiors. I am—”

“—Is Michael the type of person you want to have in charge?” Jophiel boldly stepped forward into Castiel’s face, forcing the lesser angel back a step. “Is this the sort of hierarchy that you want to live beneath? Because this is a future you have to look forward to. One of constant fear of punishment even if it means doing the right thing?”

Castiel hesitated, the vial clenched securely in his palm. “This is how things have always been.”

“No, it’s not. I am far older than you. Wiser. Stronger. I know what is best for this planet, and I know that the only way to get there is to restore myself. Give me that vial, Castiel. Now.”

“When do you plan to leave the girl?” Castiel continued despite the growing spigot of concern building in the back of his head.

“She is my true vessel, but there are others that would have me. And likely be less disobedient than this one. Never would I have imagined that I’d have such a sinful host.”

“So you will leave her when this is done?”

“Perhaps. If my work is complete.” Jophiel’s impatience was growing evident in her soul-piercing emerald eyes, flashing dangerously as she stepped into Castiel’s space once more and pried the vial from his hand with next to no effort. “But that is for me to decide. This child is special, Castiel, but she is for me. Not you. She has no idea who you are, or your strange fascination with her.”

“—I do not—”

“—Oh but you do.” Jophiel interrupted again. “You think I do not feel your presence every time you use your vision pool to watch us? Even resting I can feel you there, watching her every move. Watching her grow and thieve. It was beneficial to me in the beginning, knowing that you would do what it took to protect this child. But now…” Jophiel crushed the vial in her palm and absorbed her grace fragment, feeling immediately the restoration of now half of her abilities. Even at half, she easily had more power than any basic messenger angel could ever dream of. “…Now I wonder if you’ll try getting in my way.”

“…You’re planning an uprising.” Castiel concluded, face paling with concern.

“I am planning my return. Whether Michael accepts it or not is on him.”

“I cannot be a part of this.” Castiel turned to leave at once, readying himself to accept whatever punishment was to be bestowed for betraying his superiors. But a hand tightly clenched around his arm held him in place, and Jophiel forced Castiel to his knees with little effort. Her free hand roughly seized under his jaw, holding him in place and forcing him to look into her piercing green eyes.

“Castiel…” Jophiel’s voice softened to almost a purr despite the iron-clad grip she had on him. Her green eyes flashed once, twice, and on the third the angel felt a strange sense of calm enveloping him, burying the panic like it never existed. “Sweet, innocent Castiel. You are good for following orders. Stick to what you are good at and prepare for my return. I shall continue the search for the rest of my Grace myself.”

“Prepare for your return…” Castiel murmured, rising to his feet as Jophiel relinquished her grip and guided him upright. “Yes, my sister. I will.”

“I am pleased to hear that. Now go.”

The compulsion to do as he was told did not fade until Castiel was safely back within Heaven’s walls. The overwhelming need to do exactly as commanded by Jophiel faded in an instant, as if the decision to do so had not been of his own volition. Castiel shifted away from the crowd moving through the hallways and tried to uncover what had happened. He was preparing to return to Heaven to report what had happened, and the next moment he had been on his knees before Jophiel, but now that he had return, her compulsion had faded. Had he been manipulated? Perhaps compelled by just meeting her gaze? The unease he’d felt before had returned tenfold, and now more than ever the angel needed to report to his superiors, consequences be damned.

Except…

Even using Jimmy’s body, the mark followed Castiel. He didn’t dare lift his trenchcoat to examine it publicly, but he could feel the tingle of the unknown shape on his hip bone as if it were boring a hole in his core. The symbol was silver in color and warm to the touch at all times, but caused him no pain. It formed a crack in his form where the silver-tinged hue seemed to illuminate from within. Castiel had only seen this oddity on one other being: Emma Winchester. He’d studied her from above as she grew, much like Jophiel had indicated. Watched as she became a young woman with ambitions and, yes, some sinful behavior that he frowned upon. And every time he took to his viewing pool to see her, he lost track of time. Sometimes earth months had passed while he sat enraptured by this human. But she never appeared to notice – never once reaching out into the heavens to touch him like she had when she was a child. Castiel wasn’t entirely certain what this feeling was, why this fixation with this one particular human or why she had a mark on her hip that paralleled his.

But he was absolutely certain it was dangerous.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the threat of consciousness returning, Emma desperately wished that she could stay in the blissful darkness for awhile longer. Whatever situation she would be waking up to would be unlike anything she’d ever been exposed to. This was all the more reason she should’ve been going along on the family hunts. The expected throbbing from her oxygen-starved brain began immediately, and Emma was hardly able to stifle the sound of it. She tried to move her hand, but unsurprisingly, the limb refused to follow the command. Certain that she was trussed up, Emma chanced opening her eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting in what appeared to be some kind of factory. Everything from the floor to the ceiling was gray-metallic in color, surrounded by heavy-looking gray machinery. From her vantage point she couldn’t discern what type of factory it could be, just general manufacturing it seemed.

The factory clearly hadn’t been used in quite some time, and it wasn’t much of a surprise given how small the town of Tellico Plains actually was. A place like this had to be at least 30-40 miles away, and although the area was probably a good market for industrial building, Sam had mentioned something about the area having protected lands. The factory would’ve gone out of business when transportation options and resources were nearly impossible to come by that wouldn’t impact the environment. The machinery wasn’t wholly damaged but had clearly been exposed to some weather wear-and-tear, little chipped pieces of paint and rust could be made out on some of the larger tools facing a series of soot-colored windows that ran along the connecting point to the ceiling and side walls. It made it difficult to tell if it was even daylight out, but a place like this also meant that her chances of rescue were slim to none, regardless of the time of day.

The strain in her arms was becoming more apparent and Emma focused on trying to move them again, following the path along her arm to her wrists to find that they were bound with some silver colored wire, digging deep enough into her hands that it drew trickles of blood down her forearms. Her ankles were bound together with a similar wire, not quite to the same tightness as the other, but enough that her ankles would not come apart no matter how hard she wriggled about. Her bound wrists were connected to a claw-like lever that reminded her of those crappy claw machines from the bowling alley or an arcade. She had a feeling that this particular tool was much better at holding things, though. Beneath her feet some sort of glass container, difficult to make out the true height of it from where she hovered above it. It appeared to be crystal-clear, but her jerking movements above wriggled the machine holding her, knocking lightly against the container and causing a ripple. She followed the ridges of the container with her eyes and was able to make out what seemed to be a connecting lid and large black tube, but had been moved off to the side for the time being. At the very bottom of the container seemed to be a grate, but for whatever reason, the water being held inside was not draining.

“We only need to use that if you’re uncooperative.” A painfully familiar voice appeared from out of the shadows like some kind of James Bond movie villain.

“What’d you do to my brothers?” Emma demanded, fighting her restraints uselessly again and only serving to draw a fresh stream of blood.

“Your brothers are fine. Relatively unharmed.” The yellow eyed man replied. He drew up a chair that also seemed to come from nowhere and took a seat, folding his left leg over right. “Dean might have a concussion, but he’ll live.”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I hope you’re getting your questions out now, because I’ll be doing all the asking later. My name is Azazel. I’m a demon. And I want information.”

A demon…with yellow eyes? Emma hadn’t made the connection earlier, but now that she could see the man clearly before her with his blazing yellow eyes, this was exactly the demon that John had been hunting their whole lives for. A quiver of fear threatened to cause tremors, and it took all of Emma’s willpower to keep herself still and not give in to the threat.

“You grabbed the wrong Winchester. I don’t know anything about anything.”

“But I think you do. I think you’re a smart kid. That’s how you’ve been keeping this little secret to yourself all these years.”

“What secret?”

“Let’s not play dumb.” Azazel held up a remote with two clear red and green buttons. “This activates that claw you’re hanging on to. Now, like I said before, if you cooperate, this can be very easy and mostly painless. But if you make this difficult for me, I’m afraid I’ll have to make it difficult for you. That water-cleaning tank beneath you is used to cycle through about 200 gallons of dirty water. Now I was nice enough to make sure it’s all clean and cold for you, but that’s where the niceties end. Alright? You’re looking at about fifteen feet deep when it’s completely full, but we’ve maxed it out for you at about thirteen. Just enough to give you a little bit of breathing room.”

If Emma wasn’t paralyzed with fear before, the tremors had pushed their way through and threatened to reduce her to tears and pleading. No matter how hard she swallowed, the tightness in her throat and the dryness on her tongue refused to abate. She was on borrowed time, and there was no telling if her brothers and father even knew where to start looking for her. Complacency and her own wit were her only chances of getting out of here alive, and wit wouldn’t factor in when she was trussed up above a watery tomb by her wrists.

“W—” She started to stammer, then paused a moment to harden herself against this demon. “What do you want to know?”

“That’s much better. I want to tell me about your visitor. The one I saw you unleash in the alleyway.”

Jophiel…He wanted to know about Jophiel? Maybe…Maybe she could reach out to the archangel for help. Emma closed her eyes for a moment, reaching out into her consciousness to try and find the warm ocean-colored glow that usually followed the archangel. Jop--  
Immediately she was free-falling before she could even finish calling out to the archangel, feet hitting the shockingly cold water first and submerging her underneath. Down and down she went until feet brushed against the bottom, and only by propelling herself off the ground was she able to just barely broach the surface and drag in a desperate breath before sinking back under. Unable to use her legs to kick, she wriggled them together like a fin and managed to surface again briefly, then back down. The water felt as though it were forming tiny icicles, stabbing underneath her skin and freezing her very core. Dammit. Dammit. Never should’ve sent Jophiel away. From the surface she could make out the sound of the crane whirring and hyper extended her locked arms, feeling it latch on and drag her back above the surface. Emma coughed violently, lips already tinted blue and shivering, her legs finally clearing the water and the machine came to a stop just there, the tips of her toes ready to touch the surface again at any given moment.

Azazel approached the tank and gave it a gentle pat, a deep thud resonating to give an idea of the glass thickness. “It’s about thirty degrees in there, give or take. Won’t kill you instantaneously but it’s definitely not so comfortable, is it?”

“W-W-What’d y-you…?”

“You seemed lost in thought. I figured I’d wake you up a bit. So, are you ready to start answering questions now?” Azazel hovered off the ground some, leaning against the tank and grabbing Emma’s jaw roughly between his fingertips. “This is gonna be a lot easier on both of us if you don’t hesitate when I ask you questions.”

Emma trembled, desperate for even an ounce of warmth from the way her cold pants and bare arms dripped with water. “B-B…Blow m-me…”

Azazel laughed, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her in to his grinning demonic face. “Oh, I love the fighters. You all make my job that much more interesting. Tell you what. You answer my questions, and I’ll teach you something useful.”

“I said b—”

The lackluster insult died on her lips as the demon withdrew a knife so quickly and plunged it into her shoulder that she’d hardly time to register it. It was two beats, maybe three before the pain even got to her brain, where she was staring in shock at the protruding weapon. Emma desperately struggled to swallow it down, but the scream tore from her throat the moment Azazel began to wiggle it around, pushing harder and deeper into bone and frying every nerve, tendon, and muscle before he withdrew it and glanced in satisfaction at the thick, red-soaked blade. Emma puffed and panted her breath out as though it could alleviate the pain, her shoulder pulsing out red and filling the surface of the water.

“S-Son of—of a b—”

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” Azazel raised the blade threateningly again, this time gesturing to her face. “I am…very intimate with the ins and outs of the human body – what it can take, what its breaking points are. You are nothing special, my dear. And if you waste my time, then I’ll eliminate yours.”

Azazel pressed his palm to the profusely bleeding entry wound, and searing pain hit instantly, the smell of her flesh burning beneath his touch drawing out yet another scream.

“Oh calm down. I’m just cauterizing it.”

Azazel’s hand moved away, and a fresh black and ashen burn on her shoulder took its place, pieces of her skin surrounding it in charred chunks. Emma couldn’t stop the flow of tears, keeping the sobs at bay through no more than sheer stubborn willpower. The demon reached out and caught a tear on the tip of his thumb, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied “mmm”.

“Human tears…haven’t had a vial in awhile. Sweet and salty at the same time.”

“F-F-…Fu-….”

“Shh shh.” Azazel tauntingly pressed a finger to her lips. “Let’s not ruin that pretty face on top of it all. Are you ready to behave? Just a simple nod will do, dear.”

Emma needed time. Now more than ever, she needed to stall this creature for as long as it took for her family to rescue her. Someone had to be looking. Dean and Sam at the very least had to be looking for her. Even with no “trail” to lead them here, Dean would figure out something – canvass the town, get ideas. They were coming. She just needed time. Azazel could have easily killed her if he wanted to, but the information about Jophiel must be valuable to some degree. Pain was temporary. She could handle pain.

Emma shook her head. Azazel sighed. In one hand the demon released the claw holding her above the water, and caught her wrists in the other. Dragging her out, he tossed her carelessly to the floor, and Emma turned, landing on her right side instead of her back and yelped from the shockwave of pain up her leg. Azazel jumped down beside her, boot pressing firmly into the ‘cauterized’ wound until he was satisfied with her scream.

“I suppose we can play around a bit. This display case here is really for the big finale. I think John’s going to love it.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castiel requested council with Michael, but Zachariah informed him it would be impossible. Although Michael was a superior, he was well above Castiel’s rank, and Zachariah couldn’t fathom what Castiel might have to say to Michael himself that couldn’t be reported to him directly. Unsure of who he could trust given Jophiel’s warning, Castiel elected to keep it to himself, explaining away his strange request with nothing more than an offhanded remark about a sickly child Castiel had come to care for. Zachariah was as…unhelpful as he typically was, reminding him of God’s will, and that it was not his place to question why things happened. Ultimately, Castiel found that the only way he would get to Michael is if he somehow cornered him and gave the archangel irrefutable proof of his sister’s survival.

…However it was he did that.

Castiel was in his ‘room’ when the pain started. Though he had never experienced actual “pain” before, the sensation at his hip was burning, an unending indicator that something was very wrong. Barely able to take the steps toward his viewing pool, Castiel gingerly touched the surface with his left hand, his right braced against his side as though to forcibly stop it from aching any longer. What came in to view in the reflective lake water nearly sent him plunging head first into it, as he was forced to bear witness to the Winchester daughter in the hands of Azazel, one of Lucifer’s known oldest and most loyal servants. He could hear them if he dipped his head beneath the surface, but from the way that Emma writhed on the ground, the blood and the pain on her face, this was not a scene he wanted to hear. Emma tried to get away, bound at the wrists and ankles and squirming like a worm toward anything that could protect her. She barely got an inch away before she was caught again, dragged back across the floor and a sharp blow delivered to her side. Castiel didn’t need to hear to know the bones beneath it snapped.

An unholy fire erupted in his chest, frying his core, flushing his face, taking all attention away from the throbbing silver mark as he focused solely on the girl. Why wasn’t Jophiel doing anything? Why was she just letting this demon overpower her? At half her strength she could eviscerate something like Azazel with no trouble at all. But he realized it then the moment the demanding questions came through: Jophiel wasn’t there anymore. No trace of the archangel could be seen in the girl’s face, which means she’d either let Emma go, or she’d be forcibly cast out. Such things were unheard of. Humans couldn’t just overpower archangels. But then why? Did Jophiel know Azazel was coming and abandoned the poor girl at the last moment? He had so many questions, no answers, and no way of proving to Michael that Jophiel had survived. Emma began to move again, and as Azazel’s hand clenched around her neck and dragged her toward a far corner, Castiel knew he couldn’t just stand by and watch this happen. Clearing the viewing pool, Castiel made a beeline for the exit, preparing his wings for his flight down to Earth.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We could be wasting time!”

“Shut up, Sammy. She’s there. I know she’s there!”

“You don’t know that!” Sam retaliated furiously. “Dad said he would check out the factory and we were supposed to go to the old mill! What if she’s at the mill?!”

“She’s not at the damn mill!” Dean growled. “All this twin nonsense and you can’t tell something’s not right about that?”

“I can’t just tell you where she is! If we split up, we’re more likely to find her!”

“And if something’s got her that Dad can’t handle, we need to be there.” Dean replied furiously, clenching Baby’s steering wheel tight enough his knuckles whitened. “Dad ran outta that lady’s house like a bat out of hell. I’m not taking any chances.”

“This is taking a chance!” Sam’s posture appeared ready to pounce and grab the steering wheel. “If you’re wrong she could die!”

“I’m not wrong!” Dean slammed down harder on the accelerator, urging the Impala up past 110mph. The old “haunted” factory was within sight now, and the truck that John had taken in his rush was parked out front, driver’s side door wide open and keys still in the ignition.

Dean hit the brakes and the Impala skirted to a stop just shy of whacking into the Jeep’s driver’s side door. Grabbing his handgun from the glove compartment, he took the second out along with it and checked the magazine before handing it to Sam.

“Stay here.”

“Are you insane?! I’m not gonna leave you without backup!”

“I wasn’t askin’, Sammy.” Dean threw his door open and stepped out. “I can’t try and watch both of you, and if Emmy’s in trouble then I’m gonna need to know you’re safe.”

“But Dean—”

“No buts. Stay here, and if anything comes that that ain’t me, Dad, or Em, shoot it.”

Before he could hear another protest, Dean slammed the car door shut and started inside the old factory. The main entranceway was propped open with a large rock; Dad must’ve gone this way. ‘When in doubt, know your way out’. As if they’d ever actually leave without getting a job done. Dean tried not to think about what he was walking into, but the mere mention of yellow eyes had sent John into a frenzy, and since Em had disappeared earlier that morning, John had been steadily going off the rails. It was all the more reason that Dean was certain that this was where Emma was, and why John tried to keep his remaining two children as far away from the factory as possible. While Dean deep-down he supposed he could appreciate the sentiment, trying to throw them off the trail of Emma’s rescue had him pulsating with rage. It was something that he could shift onto another creature, perhaps, like the damnable demon that took his mom and now had his sister. Dean navigated his way cautiously through the dark, following the sound of voices reverberating off of empty metal equipment to help guide him. John’s voice was taking the lead, and when there was an iota of light, Dean moved back into the shadows, keeping his gun at the ready and assessing the situation.

Emma was the most obvious figure to make out, hanging by her wrists above a glass container of sorts unmoving, hair hanging over her face and a trickle of blood at the back of her head. She was covered head to toe in bruises, burns, and blood, a trifecta of injuries that had Dean’s blood boiling. Emma stirred some, trying to lift her head as John and the demon continued to talk. Dean forced his gaze away and concentrated on the conversation as best he could.

“—My wife, my home, my kids.” John was saying, gun trained on the demon. “All of it has been leading up to this moment.”

“There’s still time.” The demon shrugged, gesturing to Emma. “Tell you what, Winchester. If you can catch me, you can have me. Or you can take your daughter, and walk away.”

Dean inched ever closer, sticking to the shadows and finding reflections of what his sister endured splattered across the ancient machinery. With every step he cringed, guiding hand touching now cold, sticky blood. There were no other demons around that Dean could tell. What the hell was Dad waiting for? John hadn’t budged, his gun still aimed perfectly at the demon. It made sense – not wanting to tear his eyes away from the demon that’d ruined their lives. Dean could feel a similar pulse of revenge quickening in his veins, all their trauma and lack of childhood was just inches away at the responsible hands of this yellow-eyed demon. But Emma still wasn’t safe, and Dean would be damned if he was leaving without her safely in his arms.

“You’re not going anywhere.” John continued, stepping closer to the demon, who immediately took a step back.

“Oh believe me, I am. It’s a tough one you’ve raised, John. Perhaps I should have seen to your daughter instead of your son.”

Both John and Dean froze, John’s shoulders slumping ever so slightly, then tightening once again. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You really have no idea what your twins are, do you?” The demon crossed his arms, a wry grin plastering his ugly mug. “Good old Sam we always knew, but this one? An anomaly.”

“What did you do to my son?!” John demanded. “What else could you possibly take away from me?!”

“I’m sorry, Winchester, I’m afraid I’ve run out of time. So, I’ll make you an offer one last time. Take your daughter, turn around, and go home. Get her some medical attention, I’ve got what I needed.”

John fired a round that missed the demon’s head by inches, but Dean knew it’d be intentional. John didn’t miss. “I am not letting you get away from me again.”

“…Dad…” The sound of Emma’s weak, pleading voice shattered every last resolve Dean had to maintain his composure. Never in all his life, raising the twins, taking care of them, keeping them safe, even through all their hardships, had he ever heard Emma sound so broken. Dean’s knees felt weak, but hands still steady as he raised his weapon and took aim for the tank beneath Emma’s feet.

John didn’t glance her way. “I’m not letting you get away.”

The demon shrugged and held up a device with two buttons. “Suit yourself, John.”

There was a loud clank and a splash that immediately followed, but not another sound from the youngest Winchester as she fell into the tank Dean now horribly realized was filled with water. Dean bolted from his hiding spot and fired, the round striking the glass tank with a sharp TINK but no indication that it had cracked through the thick barrier.

“Dad boost me up!” Dean barked, running at the tank and leaping to try and grab the top, his fingers missing the rim by inches. He whirled around in search of his father, only to find that both John and the demon had disappeared. “Dad?! DAD!”

Dean bolted a few feet over to where his father had stood mere seconds ago, only to see John’s jacket whipping around a corner as he pursued the demon. “DAD!”

Should’ve brought Sammy, Dean thought to himself as he ran back to the tank and banged on it with his fist, trying to get Emma’s attention. His sister seemed to be unconscious, eyes closed lightly and making no attempt at holding her breath or getting to the surface tauntingly available above her. Dean assessed the damage as best he could, bloodied water making it impossible to tell what was actively bleeding and what was old.

“EMMA!” Dean pressed the barrel of the gun to the glass and fired, only to be met with a recoil so violent his hand nearly broke beneath the pressure. “FUCK! EM! COME ON!” He raised the same injured hand and punched into the chipped glass with all his strength.

Emma still made no indication that she was with him, head lightly bobbing in the still kinetic-moving ripples and blonde hair splayed out about her face like a ghost. Dean punched again and again, screaming his sister’s name as he was forced to watch her chest spasm with pain, eyes flying open as she regained consciousness long enough to succumb to drowning. Her mouth became agape, Dean’s flying fists doing absolutely nothing to free her while she violently twitched, water pouring into her open mouth, body jerking as though she’d been electrocuted. She seized once, then twice, then—

Several things happened in immediate succession. Dean suddenly was off the ground for the second time this week, flying over about a foot away and hitting the ground with a hard thump. He staggered quickly back to his feet, realizing his discarded gun was out of range and all he had were knives to back him up. A tall figure in a tan coat took his place in front of the tank, and the room became encased in a blinding white light that forced Dean to bury his eyes into his forearm. A WOOSH followed seconds after, the sound of the rushing water catching up to him after it’d already knocked him off his feet once more. Dean gritted his teeth against the cold, fighting the brief wave to get back onto his feet and kicking through the aftermath to find Emma. She was still in the tank, slumped against the opposite wall unmoving and blue at the lips.

“Em-!” Dean huffed, grabbing her beneath her armpits and hauling her out onto the sopping wet floor, jamming his fingers against her neck for a pulse. Barely there was more than he could’ve hoped for, and he rolled Emma onto her side. Three sharp blows to her back and suddenly she was choking, lungsful of water spewing out from between her pink and blue lips as she seized beneath Dean’s arms. Making sure to keep her head facing down so she could cough, Dean tugged her body into his arms, kissing the back of her head.

It was the splashing nearby that reminded Dean that this had not been a spontaneous miracle. The being kept its distance, standing a foot or so away from them, loafers squelching in the puddle that remained. Dean didn’t want to let his guard down, but he had to give this creature the benefit of the doubt…just for now. It had saved Emma’s life, and Dean was willing to hear it out. Momentarily.

“GET BACK!”

Dean whipped his head around and groaned outwardly, seeing Sam standing near the doorway and holding up the handgun Dean had left him with in the car. “Dammit Sam, it’s not safe! Get back!”

Sam planted his feet firmly on the wet concrete, hands not quite so steady as he glared at the unknown in the room. “Get away from them! Right now!”

The man in the trenchcoat cocked his head, thick brown eyebrows nearly pushed together at the center of his forehead in a look of confusion. “That will not work.” As if to prove his point, the man waved a hand and the weapon flew out of Sam’s hand and clear across the room, completely out of sight. Sam staggered back, trembling hands searching for another weapon he could use and finding none.

“Sam, it’s okay. Come here.” Dean gestured, wanting nothing more than to have his siblings close by in case he absolutely needed to attack. At least then Sam could get Emma out if Dean had to resort to a fist fight.

Sam moved slow at first, but was quick to cross the room and lean against Dean’s side, looking over Emma with frantic, pained eyes. “Her hands—” Sam whimpered, reaching out to try and remove the thin wire from around her bloody wrists.

The trenchcoat dropped to his knees and hovered over, not quite touching Emma’s struggling, shaking form, but ghosting his hands around her body as though he could feel the very damage that’d been done to her. Dean didn’t know who or what this man was, but he believed that it didn’t intend to cause them any further harm.

“She’s hypothermic…” The man murmured, voice so deep it reminded Dean of Johnny Cash. “Blood loss, internal bleeding, third degree burns, broken—”

“—Not to be rude, but what the hell are you?” Dean demanded, holding Emma impossibly closer as if he could share his lingering warmth like he wasn’t also frigid and shaking from the cold.

The man looked up from Emma with great reluctance, peering into Dean’s face with an intensity he could feel in his core. “I am an angel of the Lord. My name is Castiel.”

“An angel?” Sam finally managed to free Emma’s hands, starting at the twine around her ankles now. “We…angels aren’t real.”

“Have you not been in direct contact with Jophiel for the last decade?” Castiel asked, further confused.

“She’s been around but she—” Dean trailed off again, suddenly remembering the conversation he’d had with Emma before her abduction. “—She left. She can’t heal Em.”

“What do you mean she left?” Sam demanded, freeing Emma’s legs with little effort.

“Emmy said she’d cast her out or somethin’ the other day when we were talking.”

“It shouldn’t be possible.” Castiel confirmed, watching Dean’s wary gaze as he carefully placed a hand to Emma’s forehead. “But it is true. We have not been able to locate Jophiel.”

“Well summon that bitch back here.” Dean barked, startling the angel. “Get her here and have her fix my sister!”

“I don’t think that is a good plan. If Jophiel does not already know what has happened here, I do not think she will help without a price to pay. And if she does know and has chosen not to come, she may have found an alternative vessel.”

Dean clutched Emma ever closer, breaking at the sound of his sister’s desperate breaths. “What about you then?”

“Me?”

“Yeah you! You said you’re an angel, right? Fix her.”

“I—” Castiel frowned, his hands withdrawing away from the dying Winchester. “I cannot. I should not be here, either.”

“You came here for a reason!” Sam objected, grabbing boldly onto the angel’s trenchcoat to stop him from disappearing. “I saw you save her! Are you just going to let her die now?”

“If it is god’s will –”

“Dude, if you really are an angel and you start in with this divine shit, I will knock every last one of your teeth out.”

Castiel blanched, never having been spoken to by any human he’d ever encountered in such a derogatory way. Jimmy was such an extreme difference than what Castiel had experienced with the Winchesters in such a short amount of time. He knew that there were people like this, but those he’d often encountered were beings of extreme faith or prophets. But now being faced with piercing green eyes expecting a miracle he couldn’t deliver, Castiel found himself wanting to help more than ever, politeness be damned. But the driving force wasn’t the family’s desperation, but instead of the burning in his side reminding him that this girl was dying. There had to be something he could do.

“Lay her down.” Castiel instructed, pleased that both brothers did as they were told without questioning or intervening with demands.

Once Emma was flat on her back, Castiel knelt at her side, a hand once again at her forehead and the other on her abdomen. Her eyes were shut tight, each desperate breath beneath his hand harder to fill than the last. Truthfully there was nothing he could do. He didn’t have the same healing abilities that his archangel superiors did. But the mark in his side refused to abate the burn, as if he could possibly forget that the child beneath his hands was dying. It was the first time he’d truly been able to see her, just her, so close. Normally Jophiel’s face was transposed across the human’s, but now with her gone, all Castiel could see was pain. Whatever the reasoning that Jophiel had for not returning to her vessel’s aid could not be ignored, although he would be alone in this feeling of…retribution? The angel’s responsibility was to look after the humans his superiors ordered him to. But this was an entirely different feeling of protectiveness, and he recalled briefly the feeling when their hands had touched in his vision pool. The sensation hadn’t faded, even as she grew and Castiel helped Jophiel regain some of her missing power.

“C’mon man…please…” Dean’s green eyes bore a fresh twinge of pain in Castiel. “Please I can’t…I can’t lose her.”

Sam, surprisingly, said nothing, but the agony on his face was as clear as his sister’s, as though he were absorbing the pain of her injuries just by their proximity. How impactful this young life had on her family. But Castiel understood, in an obscure sort of way, the need for family. He loved his brothers and sisters, even his superiors. Which is what made the hissing anger toward Jophiel all the more painful to bear. Sam took Emma’s hand in his held tight, rocking on his knees as they waited patiently for Castiel to do something.

Dean’s faith in the angel was beginning to wane the longer they sat there, clearing a path for anger to take its place. “If you’re not going to help, I need to get her to a hospital. And you need to get lost before I give you the hunter treatment.”

“Wait.” Castiel replied firmly, and something in the angel’s determined blue eyes forced Dean to bite his tongue.

Castiel kept his hands on Emma’s forehead and abdomen as they had been before, leaning ever so closer so their faces were hardly more than an inch or two apart.

“Hey hey hey!” Dean’s hands fisted into Jimmy’s trenchcoat. “What is this, sleeping beauty?? You gonna heal her with a kiss?”

“Dean.” Castiel replied firmly. “Every second that you distract me is another second we may lose her. Release me at once. If I intended harm to any of you, I would have done so by now. Your nearest hospital is thirty miles away. She will die before she gets there. Either sit back and be silent, or take your chances with the road.”

“Dean—” Sam clenched his brother’s hand with his free one. “Just let him try.”

Once again, the Winchester brothers were silent and Castiel was able to return his attention to the form that was struggling less and less. She seemed to be succumbing to the injuries more than the cold, though the two were likely working in tandem. With Dean’s fingers away from his jacket, Cas resumed the previous position above Emma’s face. Castiel, in truth, wasn’t certain what he was doing, but an internal sensation, an instinct so to speak, was guiding the way for his movement as he ever so cautiously pressed his lips to her.

“I KNEW IT! SONUVA—”

“DEAN SHUT UP!”

Sam had seen the light just a second or two before Dean, but the hand clenched in his prevented him from lunging at the angel who was already pulling away from Emma’s mouth, a white-blue glow passing from Castiel’s mouth and commanding Emma’s open without a sound. Cas closed his lips a split second later, and the light carefully traveled from Emma’s mouth and visibly down her windpipe before disappearing briefly. The light returned, spreading to the visible areas of injury both internal and external. Sam and Dean could map out their path just by looking, a trail of light touching every wound until Emma’s eyes began to flicker open.

The thunderous bang of a gun startled all in the room, and before they could say a word to the angel, Castiel vanished. Dean was on his feet in an instant, knife drawn and ready to fend off the demon until their father stepped out from around the corner, lowering his shotgun, fury and bleeding scratch wounds the only visible markings on his face.

“What was that?!” John demanded, approaching Dean with an authoritative stride that meant there’d be no chance to avoid it. He was in Dean’s face in seconds. “Son? What was that thing, and why didn’t you kill it?”

Sam had dropped to his knees when Emma’s eyes opened, greeting her with a small, tearful smile and helping her upright, her arm wrapped around his neck and right arm extended out to keep her supported. He was glaring at John from behind Dean’s back with an intensity that drew their father’s attention.

“You got an explanation for me, Sam?”

“Screw you.”

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

“How about we start with your explanation, Dad?” Dean still hadn’t lowered his weapon, the sharp edge of the blade grazing along John’s leather jacket. “You left Emma to die.”

“Did you not see the demon, Dean? The one who killed your mother? The one we’ve been searching for??”

“You tellin’ me that your revenge mattered less than Em’s life?”

“Your whole life,” John repeated firmly. “We’ve been hunting this…this thing down, and—”

“—I don’t give a damn how long we’ve been hunting it. You couldn’t have known I was here. You told Sammy and I to go to the old mill but you knew, didn’t you? You knew she was here.”

“How could I have--?”

Dean stepped closer, now in John’s face and a level of malice that neither Sam nor Emma had ever heard from their brother before. “Revenge don’t mean a damn thing if we’d of lost Emma to get it.”

John, even much more to their surprise, took a small step back. “I knew you were here, son. I knew you’d—”

“—You didn’t. You couldn’t. And even if you did, you couldn’t have known I’d get her out. I went along with you, I told Emmy and Sammy that they had to listen to you and respect you because you were hurtin’ and we didn’t have anywhere else to go. You always told us that family is the most important. Watch out for Sammy. Watch out for Emmy. Salt the doors, call Pastor Jim or Bobby. Didn’t realize that my job title included protectin’ the twins from you.”

“Now wait just a damn—” John once more tried to interject, his face reddening deeply but unable to respond beyond the flabbergasted stammers – a direct result at being spoken to so menacingly by his little soldier.

The knife was suddenly at John’s throat and both Emma and Sam gasped in surprise. Emma, finally moving and steadily growing stronger as her wounds all but disappeared, threw Sam’s arm off to lunge at Dean, only to be restrained by her twin once again. Sam shook his head; it was all the communication that he needed to convey to her to not get in the middle. Dean didn’t even glance their way.

For all his life, John never could have imagined a look of such disgust and raw, unbridled hatred from his children that was directed at him. He hardened his expression as best he could, but the guilt had nestled in from the moment he’d chosen to pursue the unnamed demon instead of rushing to his daughter’s aid. He’d heard Dean calling after him, and yet he’d opted for a foot pursuit of a creature that could easily teleport, and had done so when finally cornered. John had been played for a fool, and if not for that creature in the trenchcoat, Emma would be dead. John’s gaze shifted over to Emma for the briefest of seconds, and it was enough for Dean to drive his knee into his father’s stomach, doubling John over and placing a boot on his chest. John didn’t try to fight back.

“We’re leaving. Whether or not you ever get to see us again will be my choice. I should’ve done this a long damn time ago, but family comes first. I believed that you’d do anything for us, even if it was hard, so we could stay together. And you left Emma to die.”

“Dean—”

“—No.” Dean interrupted again, removing his boot from his father’s chest and picking up John’s shelled off shotgun. “Not a word. For once, _you’re_ gonna listen to _me_. The only thing that’s stopping me from kneecapping you right now is because you’re our Dad. But that is the last ounce of respect that you’ll get from me.”

Dean turned slightly to his siblings, his tone softening immensely, but the commanding edge still surrounding it let them know they couldn’t negotiate. “Sam, get Emmy into the car.”

“Dean…” Emma tried regardless. “Dean it…it’s okay—”

“I’m not gonna say it again. Get in the car. Now.”

“Em…” Sam murmured, gently tugging on his sister’s hand. “C’mon.”

Though Emma desperately wanted to understand what had transpired, how she was even still here, Dean had never acted like this before to their father. Not even when food funds were so dire that they all nearly starved. This was a side of Dean that John had built, and it had inadvertently come back to bite him in the ass. Despite feeling strong enough to walk, Emma let Sam take the lead out of the factory, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead and looking anywhere than their father miserably laying on the ground at Dean’s feet. John became the monster that Dean needed to protect them from, and there was nothing that they could say to draw him back from it.

With the twins cleared from the factory, Dean dropped his hunting knife at John’s side, the hard metal striking the ground first with a reverberating clatter. The way John refused to retaliate was all the proof that Dean needed to know he’d abandoned Emma knowing she may die.

“The demon…he said that he did something to Sam…” John managed, his tone indicative of a broken man. “If that’s true—”

“—I don’t care.” Dean finished for him, stepping around his father and starting for the door. “I’m taking Baby. And don’t you ever, and I mean ever, come near my family again.”

Without another word to John, Dean left his father on the ground with nothing more than a hunting knife and whatever was left in the hotel duffel to defend himself with. Sam and Emma were murmuring in the backseat of the Impala when he took his space behind the driver’s seat, reaching beneath and tossing a blanket back for Sam to share with Emma.

“Where are we going, Dean…?” Emma managed, sounding so small it was as though she were a child again. “What about Dad?”

“Did you kill him?” Sam added equally as quiet, leaning back in his seat and stretching the blanket over Emma’s shivering (albeit healed) body as Dean backed away from the factory and started down the dirt road.

Despite the lump in his throat, Dean managed an eerie calmness. “No. And I didn’t leave him defenseless either.”

“Are we…meeting back up with him at the motel?” Emma ventured. “So we can talk this out? Talk about what happened?”

“No.” Dean replied tersely, making eye contact with Emma briefly in the rear-view mirror. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you ever again.”

Dean didn’t stop the car until he was nearly out of gas, around three or so hours into the drive. He’d completely bypassed stopping at the hotel to collect the meager belongings that they had – all of it could be replaced. Guilt threatened to gnaw at his mind, an aching reminder that he’d not only threatened his father, but left him abandoned in a demon-run factory with nothing more than a hunting knife at his disposal. And yet, as he glanced at his sixteen-year-old twin siblings curled up close in the backseat and fast asleep, Dean couldn’t help but feel like it was the choice he needed to make. Dean was never not on John’s side of things, even when worst came to worst and their lives were a living hell. He had a lot of respect for his old man and a great deal of things to learn.

Until it came down to this. Until he saw John abandon Emma in pursuit of revenge. No matter how deeply Dean hated that yellow-eyed menace for destroying their lives, he couldn’t imagine letting that revenge take priority over Sam or Emma’s lives. It wouldn’t happen. The twins were his whole world.

Dean tried to rub the exhaustion from his eyes as the car filled with gas, flipping his phone open and shut with his free hand while he contemplated what to do. They didn’t really have allies. They had no home. They really didn’t have any money either. Not to mention he still had a million and one questions for Castiel and of course another million for the yellow-eyed-demon. Dean was stuck with two teens he had no clue what to do with or how to protect any better than he’d been doing their whole lives, bouncing from motel to hotel to parking lots crammed in the Impala with all of them. His thumb lingered on the only contact stored in it (after deleting John’s, of course), but decided that he had no other options. Hopefully the old man wouldn’t just hang up on him on the first ring. Pressing the receiver to his ear, Dean fixed the pump back into place and leaned his back against the Impala.

“Wasn’t I clear the last time I saw ya, Winchester? Don’t--!”

“—Bobby.” Dean interrupted, his voice nearly breaking just hearing their pseudo-father’s voice. “It’s Dean.”

There was an uncomfortable pause before Bobby spoke again. “—I ain’t exactly thrilled with you either, kid. What’s wrong?”

“It’s a long story. I can explain everything but…I need help.”

“What happened?”

“In short, I got two teenagers in my car in backwoods Tennessee and nowhere to go.”

“…John dead?”

“As good as.” Dean replied bitterly. “I left him behind.”

Bobby sighed from the other end of the line, muttering a ‘sonuvabitch’ that Dean could only faintly make out. His response came as Dean had hoped it would. “You need my address again?”

“No, I got it. We’ll be a day or two, but I’m driving straight to you.”

“I’ll see you soon, kid.” The line immediately went dead.

Climbing back into the driver’s seat and starting the car once again, Dean felt as though he could finally breathe for the first time in days. Bobby’s wasn’t the most ideal solution, but Dean trusted that the man was passionate enough about them to at least hear him out.


	4. Chapter 4

“JoJo! You’re looking a little under the weather.”

Lucifer stepped down from his throne, obnoxiously large and adorned with unnecessary colorful stones, to the entryway path to his chambers, where Azazel had his hand firmly clenched around Jophiel’s upper-arm. Her new vessel worked, for the time being, but at only half her total strength the body was coming apart, dark skin tearing around her eyes and her skull and Jophiel’s own blessed eyes burning out the retinas of this human. The archangel tugged herself free, sharp green eyes flashing in such an adorably familiar way that Lucifer couldn’t help but reach out and pat her face.

“This vessel doesn’t suit you.”

“Unfortunately, the one I need to use is proving difficult.” Jophiel responded bitterly, jerking her face away from Lucifer’s touch. “If you knew I was here all this time, you should have helped me. Not sent your lackies to bring me down here.”

“Hey. Azazel is a dear friend. Now say you’re sorry.”

“What do you want, Lucifer?”

“The same thing that you want. Michael to suffer, revenge, Dad to die, all of the fun family things.” Lucifer shrugged, looping an arm around Jophiel’s neck and walking her toward the throne. “But I’m gonna need just a little bit of help getting out of here.”

“There’s over six-hundred seals, you’re going to need more than just a little bit of help.” Jophiel swatted her brother’s arm away. “Stop touching me.”

“Be nice, JoJo. I could keep you trapped down here with me.”

“Given how much help you’re going to need to walk free, I doubt that.” Jophiel crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “Why should I help you? It’s not like you did anything to help me when I was attacked.”

“No offense little sis, but what did you do for me?”

“I fought for you!”

“Uh-huh see you say that, but, check this out – still locked in Hell.”

“Michael has an army at his disposal and Raphael on his side. Gabriel is nowhere to be found. What else could I have possibly done?”

“ _Fought_ for me. Pulled Heaven apart until I was freed.” It was Lucifer’s turn to glare down, eyes going red and startling his sister back a step. He grabbed her arm again, pulling her in close. “Every one of you abandoned me. And for what? Humans? Dad’s little ‘I’m bored’ pet project?”

“I have spent quite a bit of time with the humans, Luci.” Jophiel softened her tone despite her brother’s tight grip. “For eleven years I idly sat by and watched as my vessel interacted with others, and humanity itself has begun to sicken me to my core.”

The threatening redness in her brother’s eyes dissipated, features softening ever so slightly and grip relaxing on her arm. “…Go on.”

“At my weakest I was unable to wholly possess my vessel, another one of the Winchesters that I’m certain you are familiar with. And so, I watched as she grew, thieved, her family hunted without remorse and families paid the price for it. Humanity itself needs to be controlled, not bowed before. They are flawed, idiotic creations. Perhaps we could even make them better with time. But we need to start over.”

Lucifer finally released her arm, though she could still sense his suspicions as he stepped back, arms folded and jaw clenched. “I want revenge. I want freedom. And I want to wipe this planet and the Heavens.”

“And I want the truth. I need to know if it was Michael who gave the order to have me killed.”

“The first seal needs to be broken. Once it begins, I’m sure Michael won’t be able to resist the opportunity to confront me for a final showdown.”

“I’m still missing four pieces of my grace.” Jophiel replied. “I’ve been scouring this planet but I’ve found none. Once restored, I should have no trouble getting my vessel to take me back in, and she will never be able to refuse me again.”

“I’ll send my demons out to search, and have them report to you with any whispers of your grace. Try not to run that poor girl you’re using ragged. She’s too pretty to have a permanently scarred face.”

Jophiel rolled her eyes and started for the exit when, once again, Lucifer’s arm caught her. His hand crept to her neck, forearm like an iron bar across her torso.

“Little sister or not, though…” He murmured in her ear. “If you betray me, JoJo, I’ll bury you here with me. And I will make your every waking moment one of agony.”

“Likewise, Lucifer.” Jophiel whispered back, not remotely intimidated by her brother’s stronghold.

“What happened to Father’s beauty, hm?” Lucifer probed. “Has the light of Dad’s life been completely snuffed out?”

Jophiel turned, eyes piercing deep into Lucifer’s skull as she easily pried his hand free. “She died on her fall to Earth. Father made me as his manifestation of true beauty, and I will make absolute certain that my eyes are the last thing he ever sees. Without lifting a finger, I’ll compel him to die.”

“Good ol’ Dad made a mistake with those eyes of yours…” Lucifer bemused with a wicked grin. “And Michael?”

“I’d love nothing more than to make him pay for what he did to me, but—” Jophiel cast her brother a smirk. “Why would I take that away from you?”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite.” Lucifer beckoned Azazel over. “Show my dear sister out and bring Lilith to me. Then, gather your best and most trustworthy. We’ve got some blessed humans to find.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As a family, theyelected not to tell Bobby about the angels. Though grateful for having someone to take them in, without truly knowing what they were dealing with and if it would ever come to fruition again, Dean convinced Emma and Sam that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. All indication of Castiel or Jophiel were left out of the recap that Dean put together for Bobby, explaining why they’d abandoned John, and downplaying the severity of Emma’s injuries in an effort to not explain why she had healed in such a short time. Overall, it didn’t take much to convince the old hunter to let them stay. Staying was a vague term when it came to the Winchesters; Dean was gone not even three months later. To his credit, it took more than one phone call from Dad to get him back out in the field, but despite everything, he couldn’t leave John to his own devices with no backup. Not in good conscience when the twins were now somewhere secure and safe. To add insult to injury, he stole away in the night and left nothing more than a brief note to explain his actions, and instructions for them to be on their best behavior.

Sam wasn’t the same after that. Bobby got them enrolled in a local high school shortly after Dean’s departure, and in typical Sam fashion, he threw himself into his schoolwork to avoid addressing any of his actual bottled up frustrations. Emma, meanwhile, found that she was unable to concentrate on any amount of schoolwork. After living a life in a constant state of fight-or-flight, sitting by in a classroom with the clock just ticking away second by second was maddening. She dropped out before the end of the first semester and refused any of Bobby’s arguments to trying it once again. In fact, Bobby did anything he could to give Sam and Emma as normal a life as possible. When Sam’s Stanford acceptance letter came in with a full ride scholarship, Bobby helped him pack up his belongings with only encouragement to stay out of the lifestyle. It was everything that Sam had ever wanted.

It was also the first time they ever separated.

Sixteen years of demon hunting and three years of living a semi-domestic life with their retired pseudo-father, Sam thoroughly believed that the nightmare that was there upbringing had finally come to an end. And he was determined to live his best life, make friends, fall in love, start a family. Emma could still recall the excited one-sided conversation as Sam ran around his bedroom and crammed his things into bags and suitcases. She’d lingered in the doorway with a phony smile across her lips and actively pretended to listen. Sam caught on, eventually, and had stopped packing long enough to feel out what was really spinning in his sister’s head.

“You should come with me…” Sam suggested gently. “We could get our own place. There’s tons of off-campus and on-campus living.”

“I don’t think frat-house life is for me.” Emma shrugged. “And what if Dean—?”

“—Don’t.” Sam interrupted sharply than he’d intended. “I don’t want to fight right before I leave.”

Emma swallowed down the tension building in her throat, the threat of crying resurfacing for the third time that day. “We’ve just never—”

“—I know.” Sam’s arms wrapped around her, and Emma took a moment in the embrace to calm herself. “Maybe we won’t be physically together anymore but I’m always with you. Right? But I gotta live my life.”

“It’s dangerous for you to be so far away. If something happens…”

“Nothing is going to happen. It’s over. We’ve been out for three years. No ghosts or demons or werewolves are going to interfere with our lives.” Sam drew her out of his hold and tried to meet his sister’s gaze.

Emma looked down at the ground instead. “We’re never out of it. We’ve never been out of it.”

“They’re just dreams, Em.” Sam groaned and returned to packing immediately. “Just PTSD induced nightmares. I know it gets you worked up but they don’t mean anything.”

“They’re not nightmares.” Emma retorted. “I mean they are but…they’re also not. And what she said about—”

“Just, stop!”

Emma could still recall the way her heart plummeted into her stomach. Sam didn’t want to hear anything about it. Perhaps he was just trying to ignore anything that could take away from his goal. She’d left his room after that and locked herself in her bedroom until morning. She’d hardly managed a goodbye before Sam got in the car Bobby had fixed up for him and drove off for California. It was the last time she’d seen him. And even though she always felt the presence of Sam at the back of her mind, a comforting reminder that she was always connected with her twin, over the last few years, the sensation had faded. Bobby argued that being pissed off at family could make you feel disconnected, but it was like an entirely unique sensation. For the first time in what felt like forever, she was entirely alone in her own mind.

At least until nighttime. Sam was wrong about the nightmares, but only sometimes. In fact, it was most nights that Emma found herself twisting and turning, fighting her bedsheets and sometimes screaming for help. To poor Bobby’s credit, he always came to check on her, unable to calm her through the night terrors of Azazel breaking her ribs, torturing her, drowning her. She’d given up Jophiel to the demon after what felt like hours of endless burning and stomping and dunks into the frigid water. She could still feel ghosts of pain over scars that hadn’t managed to heal, the icy water stabbing into her veins until her arms seized with pain. About the time she was twenty or so was when the nightmares became less and less frequent. Every once in awhile there’d be a resurfacing, and Bobby would find Emma sitting in the kitchen destroying beer can after beer can at 3AM. With time, Bobby assured her, it would get easier to deal with.

No amount of time could have prepared for Jophiel’s return. The archangel didn’t necessarily visit in the traditional sense, but she’d somehow managed to find her way into Emma’s consciousness. The first time she’d seen her had been the day after they’d arrived at Bobby’s, Sam, Dean, and Emma all crammed into one bed so Dean could hold them like a lifeline. But Dean’s protectiveness couldn’t stretch into sleep, and so she was forced to confront the archangel in a beautiful meadow. Nothing was around save for the purple peonies popping out of the tall grass, and the blue sky. Jophiel certainly had taken on another form, a gorgeous girl with rich brown skin and Jophiel’s trademark emerald eyes. Without warning Jophiel flung her arms around Emma and pulled her into a desperate embrace.

“I was so worried about you!” Jophiel cried. “This was the first time I’ve been able to reach you since we separated!”

“I called for you…” Emma ventured, pulling free of the hug and creating a little distance. “I begged for your help.”

“I couldn’t get to you, please know that I tried.” Jophiel implored, the desperation in her face hard to misinterpret. “When you’re a fallen angel, your wings are tattered or completely gone. It’s why I never simply flew you back to the motel after our late nights.”

It had an aura of sense to it, but Emma still found herself guarded. “Why are you here now?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I called upon the heavens at great risk of my own life to send help to you. Did…someone must have come.”

“My brothers.” Emma muttered, though remembering a pair of stunning blue eyes just as she regained consciousness. “Dean said another angel came. I…Cas or something…”

“Castiel, yes.” Jophiel seemed beyond relief, clutching at her chest and taking a deep breath. “I’m so thankful he heard my prayers in time to save you. But I fear that…he may report to Michael that he’s found me. I’m certain that my brother’s soldiers are preparing to finish me.”

A pang of guilt dug deep into Emma’s stomach and she looked away again. “If…there was a way for me to help you, what would I have to do?”

“Oh, my sweet Emma, I could never ask that of you again.” Jophiel immediately shook her head. “You have suffered far too greatly as a result of my actions. I took advantage of you and your hospitality and let my own selfish needs nearly enslave you.”

Emma wouldn’t refute it, having felt very much like a prisoner within her own body when Jophiel was constantly seizing control when Emma was at her weakest and most vulnerable points. But if she’d sent aid to Emma despite being forced out of their shared body and was checking in on her now…Emma had felt the need to continue to try and help the archangel, just as she’d done for her when she was five. It was hard to forget the argument they’d had prior to her expulsion, how she made Sam and Dean worry about her as Jophiel just took control and went off for days without letting Emma see or hear a thing that was happening. She was wary.

“Like I said…if I agreed to help you, what would you have me do?”

“I’m only four fragments shy of being restored to my full power. This vessel won’t be able to contain me. Not the way that you can. Which makes her nearly useless in allowing me to fight back against my brother.”

“So you want to risk my body so you can get revenge on your brother?”

“No! No, no, of course not!” Jophiel nearly cried. “I don’t want to fight him. I want to understand. Michael would never let harm come to humanity. He would be looking for a solution that would benefit the both of us. And if it came to that, we would take the fight outside of our vessels.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” Emma demanded, finally willing herself to face this situation head on and stare at the archangel without fear. “How do I know if I agree to help you that you won’t get me killed?”

“Because all I have ever done is try to look out for you and your family. I cared for you. I talked to you when they left you abandoned and alone. And when your life was truly in danger and your father turned his back on you, I sent someone to save you. I care about you, Emma. When was the last time someone cared for you?”

“Dean and Sam care.”

“Dean will return to your father because he can’t help himself.” Jophiel countered, though her tone was not condescending, but rather comforting. “He needs your father’s respect. And Sam will leave you too when he realizes he can be free. But I…I want to help you, Emma. I want you to see your full potential. And if, Father unwilling, something should happen to you, you’d be blessed with peace for all eternity. I could reunite you with your Mother.”

Emma’s arms unfurled some, the hope in her face so painful obvious it stung. “You could reunite me with Mom?”

Jophiel nodded, daring to approach again with a hand on either of Emma’s shoulders. “You could be in paradise together. And angels like myself are unable to penetrate that peace.”

“I’d rather not think about dying right now.” Emma murmured. “But…that is comforting to know. Thank you.”

“For now, just stay safe. I’ll come visit as often as I can in your dreams. Please know that visiting in person would only put both of us in danger, and your family as well. I will continue to search for my missing grace on my own. When the time comes, I’ll come for you. As details emerge, I will relay them to you.”

Jophiel’s fingers gently stroked down the side of Emma’s face. “One last thing.” A long, white-silver imbued tool slid into Emma’s fingers, hefty and cold, but a perfect fit for her palm. “This is an angel blade. It’s the only weapon that you can use to kill my kind. Should you be found by any heavenly hosts, do not hesitate to kill them, for they will not hesitate to kill you. As for Castiel—”

“--The angel that saved me?” Emma interrupted, still transfixed by the weapon in her hand.

“Yes. Castiel was of great help in saving your life, but now I fear that he may be the orchestrator in leading the attack on your life. He will try to recon saving your life. When you see him, do not give him the chance to speak. If he manages a single word, it will already be too late to protect yourself.” She gently touched Emma’s forehead, providing a picture of the angel.

“But…why would he save me and then just…kill me later?”

“Messenger angels are not to disobey their superiors. In order to save his own life, Castiel would need to do anything to prove he would not do so again. He will argue I compelled him to save you.”

“Can you do that?”

“No.” Jophiel sighed. “No one has power like that. Not even Michael. If I could compel, I could have ordered you to take me back. I must go now. If you ever need me, Emma Winchester, find me in your dreams.”

True to her word and her predictions, her brothers left her behind, and Jophiel visited when Emma was at her loneliest and darkest. She had either been flying beneath any angel detection or they simply did not know where to look, but Jophiel was her only visit in the years that followed Sam’s leave for Stanford, and even he did not come back to visit. Bobby insisted that Emma get some kind of a hobby besides beating things up in the junkyard, working out, and drinking. Celebrating her twenty-first birthday alone at a bar was when she discovered a knack for karaoke. She hadn’t intended on singing, but feeling as though she’d somehow slipped beneath rock bottom had her yearning for a wake to shake off the drunken blues. The bar was hosting an open mic night with a $500 cash prize for the best of the best that night. It took nearly an hour and a half for Emma to sober up enough to get on the makeshift stage for her own chance, the last taker of the night before the DJ would tally up votes for a winner.

The liquor helped her confidence, but instead of some honky-tonky showstopper like Journey or Bon Jovi, Emma elected for a song pitted in her core. She could still hear it in the spits between radio stations and Dean jamming in another AC/DC cassette.

1974\. Ben King. An acoustic variant of the song played on the DJ’s machine and Emma belted out an unheard-of cover of “Stand By Me”. The original version of the song was a much more blues-jazz style, but with Emma’s beautifully often unused vocals poured her heartache into the magically crafted lyrics, there was scarcely a dry eye in the house by the time she’d concluded. The money was basically thrown at her, either because they really found her voice beautiful or because she was bumming everyone out, but it ignited a drive in her to continue singing. Emma was at the bar almost every other night for nearly four months before the bar owner offered her a full-time job. Karaoke nights were still a thing on Friday nights, but Sunday – Thursday Emma had the privilege of center stage, comforting the masses there to wallow away their misery with her pre-written set list. Sometimes they had requests. A man who’d lost his wife once asked if Emma would be willing to slow dance with him and sing the Carpenter’s “Close To You”. She’d done so without hesitation, and the man was weeping into her shoulder by the end, calling her an angel.

The nickname stuck from then on, and Emma could only sigh at the irony of being the Angel of Ivan’s Tavern. Bobby came sometimes to her shows, at least tried once or twice a week as the bars became filled more with every passing month. But Bobby had a pain in his past that Emma’s voice unearthed at times, and he found it was harder to go home afterwards.

All of these pieces played a part in how she came to be here now, watching the bar fill from her stool up on the podium. Ivan, the owner, was able to make a lot more renovations to the place ever since Emma began singing there. Now she had a dressing room at the far back, a partner named George to accompany her voice with his guitar skills, and some better lighting so she could see the crowd and see back. It wasn’t all acoustics and ballads, of course. It depended on the crowd that night. But it was a Tuesday afternoon, and she could make out the faces of men who’d lost wives, wives who’d lost husbands, and people looking for an iota of comfort and understanding. She found she could touch them with her voice, help them keep their loved ones in sharp clarity when time threatened to erode the memories away. She’d of happily done this without pay, just to bring these families comfort, but at twenty-four she was finally nearing a point where she could move out on her own.

“Good evening everyone. I’m happy to see some familiar faces tonight. I wanted to start off the evening recapping a letter I received yesterday afternoon. I was heartbroken to receive this. The young woman confessed to me that her husband has abandoned her and her young son, and she’s feeling very lost and very afraid. I don’t know if she’s out here tonight, but if you are, I want you to know that you’re never alone. This is a community of good people who will look out for you. If you are here, please come to my dressing room after the show tonight. I would love to help you. For now…George?”

Her guitarist nodded and began to strum, a gentle melody like a lullaby filling the air of the bar. “This is for all the mothers and fathers here tonight struggling to get by.”

A few stragglers filled the rest of the space in the bar, taking spots in the back where the tavern lighting wasn’t the best – especially when factoring in the sometimes blinding stage lights. Emma’s fingers gently closed around the microphone and she finally began to sing:

_“Everything's gonna be alright  
She whispers to herself  
She was only 6 years old that night  
As she hid behind that shelf  
Cuz daddy had a little too much to drink  
And mama didn't want her to feel the pain she felt  
But she still felt the pain...”_

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to let herself get pulled too deeply into the lyrics that were meant to touch others:

_“Well 10 years they came and went  
And dad was gone  
So she looked for love in other men  
And tried to act strong.  
Broken hearts and Scars in only places she could see  
Cuz she just wanted, she just wanted to feel something” _

Someone at the back moved a little closer to the center of the bar, though they kept to the side. She could feel the eyes burning a hole in her soul, and managed to swallow down the threat of tears:

_“And as she sat there on that bed  
Thinking bout what those girls said  
Tears streamed down her eyes  
She cried..._

_If there's a God out there  
Please here my prayer.  
I'm lost and I'm scared  
And I've got no where else to go  
I've come a long, long way  
But I'm not sure I can make it much farther...  
So if you're listening, could you give a helping hand  
To your daughter.” _

A few people in the audience started to pull out handkerchiefs and tissues, and a young woman at the front clasped a hand to her chest:

_“Well her path started to change  
She reached out and grabbed God's grace  
And finally, she saw a light  
Until that night...  
Where she decided one drink was alright  
And one thing led to another  
Next thing you know, 9 months go by  
She's a mother._

_And as she lay there in that bed  
Stroking that small angels’ head  
Tears streamed down her eyes  
She cried..._

_If there's a God out there  
Please here my prayer.  
I'm lost and I'm scared  
And I've got no where else to run  
I've come a long, long way  
But I'm not sure I can be the best mother...  
So if you're listening, could you give a helping hand  
To your daughter.” _

Dean of all people was at the forefront of her mind as she sang, lyrics sending a wave of frustration and sadness through her core. Feeling so lost and scared all the time, nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Dean had been the anchor she always needed to keep her grounded. Sam her lifeline to stay strong, but Dean was the familial foundation. He took so much on his shoulders and watched over them with all his strength. And then one day...just gone. But this wasn’t about that. This was about those mothers:

_“Well that baby grew into a boy  
Who became her pride and joy  
He loved her like no man could  
And her heart felt peace, ‘cuz she finally understood  
God's love._

_And as she laid there in that bed  
99 years old  
She grabbed her son’s hand and said  
There's something you must know..._

_There is a God up there  
Who heard my prayer  
I was lost and afraid  
And I had no where else to go.  
I had no clue, what to do  
And then He sent me you._

_So if you're lost and afraid  
And you feel so alone  
Don't worry child  
Cuz there's a Father who will love you as His own  
Just like he loved his daughter.  
Like he loved His daughter.”_

Emma cleared her throat as she finished the song, wiping away a few of the stray tears that’d managed to escape while she sang. She hadn’t intended on getting so caught up in the music, but the artists’ own true voice and a deeply buried desire to have her own family someday had been brought to the surface. The echo of Sam’s declaration that they could have real lives, could find love and just live struck a nerve so deep she nearly sobbed. Her own family, her brothers, were her purpose for so long. And then they’d left her behind. She still couldn’t manage the residual feelings of abandonment, a purposeless feeling in life, unsure of what to do or who she could be. But she was certain that she was never free from the hunter’s life, but either way, had no family.

“Pardon me, everyone.” She addressed the crowd with a forced smile. “I felt deeply for this mother and her family, and I hope that, wherever she may be, she feels a little less alone. Now then,” Emma paused once again to clear any of the remaining tears off her face. “Let’s have a little fun tonight.”

By midnight she finished her set for the bar, and a few late-nighters were all that remained as George packed up his sheet music and gave Emma a reassuring, comforting smile before he offered to walk her back to the junkyard. Emma thanked him but let him go home, stopping only to get a quick vodka-tonic from Ivan before she went into her dressing room to change. Back in her street clothes, jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, Emma bid goodnight to the owner and bartender, kissed a few regulars on the cheek, and headed out the front door back to the junkyard. Bobby’s place wasn’t far, only about six blocks or so, and it was a cool spring night so she’d elected to walk. Bobby fixed up a car for her just like he had for Sam, but she saw no reason to use it when she was so close. Naturally it made her adoptive-father very uneasy, and he usually stayed up until she was home. Or at least he tried to. Emma had come home a number of times to find Bobby passed out in his recliner, a beer in one hand and his cell phone open on his chest.

Emma was certain that after Sam and Dean were gone, Bobby would be fed up with having her around. But in actuality, he seemed to revel in the comfort of another person sticking around. For a grumpy old man that argued about the importance of privacy and alone time, the pair ate their meals together, went deer hunting, fixed up some cars, and sometimes just sat in silence, read or watched tv. Bobby never gave any indication that he wanted Emma to move out or get lost, and they actually got along reasonably well. She kept the house clean for him (honestly it was the least she could do), and Bobby didn’t demand much in return. When she’d received her first check from Ivan’s, she’d offered it to Bobby in repayment for letting her stay. The old hunter refused, asking her what the hell she thought he needed money for, and that was that.

“If I’d of had things my way,” Bobby had explained to her once after a night of heavy drinking. “I’d of taken ya from that idiot man and kept ya as my own from the minute ya got here.”

The words were comforting, and Bobby in eight years of her living with him had been more of a father to her than John in sixteen. She was truly thankful for being able to learn under him, but nothing could compare to losing both of her brothers. Sam and Dean had completely cut off all contact, and no matter how many times she tried to call them, neither brother gave her a response. Sam didn’t come home for holidays either, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Dean contacted Bobby every once in awhile, but the calls were always taken in another room. She wondered if Dean asked about her. She pressed Bobby for information a handful of times, but he’d always muttered something about “idiot hunters” and told her not to worry about it. Given his hospitality, she’d elected not to press further into it. But the moment she had some privacy she tried calling her brother’s number, only to find that the burner number she’d had stored was disconnected. She wasn’t surprised, but she still cried at the automatic _‘THE NUMBER YOU HAVE DIALED HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED’_. She faired no better trying to get in touch with Sam at Stanford, going as far as to call the office of admissions only to find that they were not so willing to give out a student’s information, even if she claimed to be his sister. She was not listed as Sam’s emergency contact, and therefore, they couldn’t disclose any information about him.

That was two years ago, and although the ache had subsided some, it still lingered in her chest. The thought that both her brothers had also abandoned her, probably with some idiotic idealism about keeping her safe, hurt worse than any physical or emotional pain she’d ever been through before. Dean of all people, whose core values were the importance of family, gave her no way to contact him, even if it was just to hear his voice. She’d tried, desperately to reach through her bond to feel Sam’s presence in her mind, and yet it was like he’d closed the door to their twin bond and shut her out for good. Their promises meant nothing. Bobby was the only remaining shred of family she had left, and they both clung to that need like a lifeline. Bobby was likely all she’d ever have again. 

Even though they’d been out of the business, Bobby explained to her that these things always have a way of _“grabbing you by the balls and draggin’ you back in”_. Emma couldn’t bring herself to put anyone else through the knowledge of her past, and then ask them to risk their lives just to be with her on the hope that nothing would resurface.

But it would. Jophiel was never too far away from her dreams to remind her that a war was coming, and Emma would be at the center of it all.

She was beginning to feel like it was worth it. Giving over full control, and when all was said and done, she'd find peace.

With that in mind, she’d been determined to not let any of her skills slip through the cracks. Bobby agreed that knowing what she was doing was critical, and so after Dean’s departure and continuing after Sam’s, Emma continued to learn. Bobby taught her anything he knew about monsters and demons, taught her about different weapon types, effective tactics against certain creatures, trained her in utilizing weapons, trained with hand to hand, and helped to keep her in shape. Bobby’s fitness routine, of course not ever applicable to himself _(“It’s too late for me, kid”)_ helped keep up her stamina and ability to defend herself. It wasn’t as though Bobby were a martial artist, but having his instruction and treating her like she was a competent hunter revitalized her. 

Keeping on top of her hunting skills was how Emma knew she was being followed.

She’d long passed the entrance to the junkyard with the presence of mind to know that she’d been followed from the bar. One of the stragglers in the back stuck around for the entire performance, kept to the side up until the moment she left. He was keeping his distance enough that it shouldn’t have been noticeable, but every once in awhile his clumsy feet tripped over a stick or stone, crushed a patch of grass. If she hadn’t been listening for it, she’d of likely just chalked it up to the environment. The most important thing was to lure this stranger somewhere unforgiving where she could corner him. She couldn’t chance a look back to get his height and build, or discern if it was even a man she was dealing with. Two blocks further from the junkyard was a series of houses with interconnecting alleyways filled with dumpsters for ease of garbage pickup in the small county. She rounded a corner and quickly ducked behind one of the green dumpsters, fumbling in her bag for her .22. Fingers closed around it and safety turned off, she waited a beat, but the footsteps did not recede. Instead they came closer, light, hesitant footsteps unsure where his mark had gone.

He managed to pass her without seeing her, her body flattened and tight against the dumpster while his head was fixed forward, dead-ahead. Two smaller tin garbage cans helped to further shield her from his sight, though she was able to make out his form now. Dark hair, a long tan coat, black loafers – suddenly an image was coming to mind, a warning that Jophiel reminded her of multiple times. This must have been the angel that came to her rescue…and was subsequently planning to kill her to appease his superiors. Why now? She kept the blade that’d been given to her in her dreams in the messenger bag just in case, and withdrew it now, the silver object giving off a soft hum that forced her to freeze. The man didn’t seem to notice, still walking and eyes scanning the alleyway for any sign of her.

She was not to let the man speak to her…but how to be certain that this was the right target? All she had was his face. Emma finally made her move, sneaking out from behind the garbage cans just as the man was turning back around, pressing the barrel of the gun to his forehead and the angel blade at his throat. Startled, he opened his mouth to speak, but Emma immediately dug the blade in, just a bit.

“No. Don’t say a word.” She growled, much less surprised by the sight of blood than the man seemed to be. “Jophiel warned me about you. She said you’d be coming to kill me.”

To his credit, he hadn’t yet said a thing, but the shock in his blue eyes, the fear building behind it coupled with a knitted brow look of confusion made Emma hesitate. Nothing was more dangerous for a hunter than hesitation, and yet her hand couldn’t be forced into finishing the job, one quick slice of his throat and he’d be gone. But those damn eyes…she could feel them in her dreams, and she found comfort in their light. She tried not getting lost in his face, soft expression, defined jawline…it was a vessel that she could see in her dreams. But he felt familiar, and it was the sensation that kept her wrist still.

“Are you here to kill me?” She managed, then paused. “You can speak.”

“No.” His gravelly voice answered immediately.

“Why were you following me?”

“I was making sure you returned home safely.”

“Why tonight? Why were you at the bar?”

“To make sure you were safe.”

 _“Why?_ ” Emma repeated, turning the safety back on her gun and tucking it back into her pants with her free hand while keeping the blade steady at the man’s throat, switching to her right-dominant hand to hold it in place. “Jophiel explained everything to me.”

“Jophiel is dangerous.” The man retorted, keeping his hands steady at his sides.

“She said you’d say that. She said I shouldn’t have let you even speak to me, or it’d already be too late to resist. But I’m not feeling very compelled to let you walk away.”

“What are you waiting for, then? If you are certain of everything, you should kill me now to save yourself.”

Emma struggled for a moment to answer, her brain screaming to finish it, slice him open and run like hell before something else showed up to attack. But her hands refused to obey. “You’re Castiel, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are Michael’s soldiers looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell them where to find me?”

“They’ve always known.” Castiel replied flatly. “Humans are not difficult to keep track of. I have been keeping them away.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

“You don’t. Either way, you are asking that I either prove or disprove my actions, neither of which you would have ever seen. But I don’t intend to cause you harm. Jophiel has been grooming you from the beginning to be her vessel in a war against Michael.”

“If you didn’t tell them, how did Michael find out Jophiel was still alive?”

“There was a riot of sorts in Heaven. Some loyalists to Jophiel attacked other angels, weakened a fraction of Michael’s army. The Apocalypse is beginning.”

“Apocalypse? Now you’ve definitely lost me. What the hell does that mean? Like, the end of the world?”

“When Lucifer would walk free and a battle would ensue between Michael and Lucifer. Angels are currently working to keep Lucifer contained. They have also sought after you to ensure that Jophiel never achieves her vessel. She will be unable to fight without you.”

“And she can’t use the alternative body she’s stolen because it’s deteriorating.”

“Jophiel is very smart, and very sinister. I believe I know what she may be planning to eliminate Michael’s army before Lucifer is unleashed.”

Emma still hadn’t moved her wrist, but her resolve was all but dissipated. Perhaps Jophiel had been right about Castiel speaking to her. The angel looked genuine, but Emma could only imagine how many monsters that Sam and Dean had encountered before that looked just as innocent only to reveal that they were killers. The things out of nightmares. Angels weren’t supposed to be one of them.

“We should not be standing here in the open. This is a very vulnerable space.”

“Why did you save me?” Emma ignored his warning. “Eight years ago. Dean told me it was you. And I remember…I recognize you. Jophiel said she contacted you and sent you to me. Is that true?”

“It…is true in a way, but not in the correct time. Jophiel first contacted me when you were a child. She was searching for an ally to help restore her grace.”

“Then those nights…when I couldn’t move and she was wandering around—”

“She met with me.” Castiel confirmed with a resigned sigh. “And then I found out what she was planning. At first, I—I fell for it too. I believed she just needed help. But then I learned she was planning a retaliation. To what degree, I am not sure. But after the uprising in Heaven, it can only mean death for my brothers and sisters.”

“How did you know, then? How did you know I was in trouble? Were you watching me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I was concerned for your well-being.”

“Do you angels always take such keen interest in humans?”

“No. We are to look after those we are charged to, but not all. Prophets, politicians, great influencers, people who would make a mark on history, and others just live their lives.”

“So why me then?”

“The Winchesters are special, that much I know.”

“But why are you constantly watching me? Were you assigned to me?”

“Emma, I have answered all of your questions honestly. Will you please put the blade away? I do not wish to cause you any harm, but I will insist on force if you are unwilling to listen.”

“Don’t even think about laying a hand on me. Answer me, damn you. Why were you watching me?”

Sensing that they were getting nowhere, Castiel’s jaw clenched and he reached toward his hip with a careful move of his hand. Emma tensed, bracing for a fight, but the gesture was slow enough to reveal he was lifting his half-tucked white button-down up slightly to free the fabric.

A voice cut through their interaction before Castiel could finish loosening his shirt. “Castiel! I thought you were told to stay in Heaven.”

Emma whipped around just in time to be seized roughly by the front of her shirt, pressed up against the brick walls while another individual stepped forward and gently clapped the angel on the back.

“Eleanor.” Castiel certainly didn’t sound relieved to see the pair, the unnamed male angel applying enough pressure to snap her wrist to force Emma to drop the angel blade. The weapon fell with a clutter to the ground and was picked up by Eleanor.

“Sorry for the sudden interruption. But we were passing by and found this county was visible again. It’s no wonder you stopped in.”

“Get…OFF…let go!” Emma demanded, swinging her head forward with enough force that she bashed into the angel’s nose.

She was immediately on the ground once again and swept the unnamed angel’s legs out from under him. The tall, balding man collapsed on his side with a rough THUD and Emma rolled out of the way in time to avoid his grappling hands. But the moment she was upright again, the same angel blade she’d used to threaten Castiel was at her throat. Though she was no angel, the blade was threateningly sharp, an easy trickle of blood dripping down the side of her neck from the mere touch of the blade.

“We thoroughly enjoy your spirit. But you will need to come with us now.”

“Wait. Where?” Castiel interjected, only to be strong-armed aside by the recovered male angel. “Where are you taking her?”

“Heaven. Orders come from our superiors.”

“You kill people in Heaven too?” Emma couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the circumstances. “You’re nothing like the angels people pray about.”

Emma reached for her pocket as quickly as she could, kicking Eleanor in the shin to throw her balance off. She whipped the .22 back out and didn’t hesitate this time, unloading two bullets into her chest at close range. Though she stumbled back a step or two, the actual impact of the gun had done absolutely nothing to stop her.

“We have orders to bring you back alive.” Eleanor sneered. “But we were not instructed to leave you scar-free.”

The other angel released Castiel, suddenly behind Emma in the time it took to blink. His arms wrapped around her mid-section and he threw her body weight back against him, legs flailing through the air as she fought to touch the ground. All this training and she couldn’t even get her damn feet back on the ground. Emma lurched her head back, catching the male angel under his jaw and he retaliated by tightening his arms around her, nearly cracking her ribs.

“Enough!” Eleanor lashed out with the blade, cutting Emma across the face.

Emma ignored the searing pain across her face, arching her foot back and kicking the blade clean out of Eleanor’s hand. She was thrown to the ground as a result, this time the force enough to break her arm, which was subsequently stomped on by the male angel. Emma screamed, profanities pouring out as she struck back once again, grabbing the knife stored up near her broken arm with her free hand and driving it into the angel’s knee. The male stumbled back a step and withdrew the knife with ease, a hand clenched around Emma’s throat and dragging her up off the ground and into a dumpster head-first. Her vision blackened around the edges, stumbling to find any grip to consciousness while she fumbled underfoot to get upright. She was seized once again, although whatever the angel was saying to her couldn’t penetrate the ringing in her ears. Eleanor and the male angel both had a fierce grip on the front of her shirt, though by now she was far too disoriented to focus on her fight.

“—ARE YOU DOING?!”

The alleyway was suddenly encased in an all-too-familiar white-blue light and Emma was on her knees an instant later, no sign of either attacking angel when the light had finally cleared. Still temporarily blinded, she swung out fruitlessly with her good hand when she felt herself being moved again.

“YOU’RE NOT TAKING ME ANYWHERE!”

“EMMA, STOP!”

Though she recognized it as Castiel’s voice, it shouldn’t have stopped her from trying to retaliate. But her arms stopped swinging and the angel was gentle enough to help get her back onto her feet with little effort. She wavered a little but a firm hand was on her shoulder, which, albeit helpful, she immediately swatted it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“I saved your life.” Castiel snapped, pressing the cool handle of the angel blade back into her good hand. “If that is not enough to prove to you that I am here to help you, then you can kill me now.”

“How…?” Emma demanded, her eyesight finally gaining some ground back to clarity again. “What’d you do?”

“I used an old Ennochian spell to banish them.”

“Ennochian-?”

“We really do not have the time. I am very sorry for this—”

Castiel pushed her back up against the wall, and without having her balance wholly back on point, she nearly tripped up and crashed to the ground again. She managed to keep herself upright long enough for Castiel’s hand to find its way to her ribcage, and there was yet another blinding burst of light, only this time it felt as though her very insides were being grated, like someone took a knife and were spinning it madly through her insides. She resisted as long as she could before lashing out, kicking Castiel square in the groin and sending the angel to the ground. She lunged at him with the blade drawn, but the angel recovered fast, scrambling upright and catching her wrist before it could strike down on her.

“Emma…stop! I am trying to help you!”

“What the hell did you just do to me?!”

“Protected you! I carved the sigils onto your ribcage so you will be hidden from angels from this point on. Both kind like me and archangels like Jophiel! But they still know you are here!”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“You did not have to!”

Castiel forced them apart, hands still up in mock-surrender to ward Emma off from lunging at him again. On the wall behind him was a symbol coated in red, still dripping fresh from an apparent cut on Castiel’s hand. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but spots of blood covered the front of her shirt from his hold.

“I have to protect you.” Castiel continued, his breathing as uneven as hers though it seemed ridiculous that the angel would really need to breathe. “I don’t know why. I have never found the answer. But from the moment Jophiel made contact with me and I was introduced to you I – “

“—We’ve never met before I was sixteen. Not consciously for me anyways.”

“When you were only nine years old, a prayer came to me from Jophiel. You were washing your face in a sink, and when you turned, you looked right at me. I thought it was a trick of the light, but you – do you not remember?”

“I…” Emma’s argument stuck in her throat, because she had remembered, but it felt like a dream. Reaching up and being able to touch the air above her head, ripples being caused in the middle of nothingness, and a gentle light lingered just above her. She’d tried to touch it and felt an unexpected warmth, which startled the tips of her fingers back down. She reached back out, and the warmth encased her hand like a glove. “…How do you know about that?”

“Because it was me.” Castiel reiterated with an annoyed huff, extending out his injured hand as if it were the key to answering all of her demands.

Emma hesitantly reached out with her good arm, her fingers stopping just before they reached Castiel’s. She glanced up in the angel’s face warily, but couldn’t find a trace of malice in his features. Carefully the tips of their fingers touched, and the familiarity of it was so jarring it as though she’d been holding that hand for thousands of millennia. Her side itched, that irritating little silver mark beginning to burn, but in a way that was more attention-drawing than it was painful. She jerked her hand away from Castiel and shut her eyes, fighting back the feeling that she knew who he was. They’d never met before.

“Fine.” Emma managed, tossing the angel blade on top of her messenger bag. “I’ll trust you…for now.”

“We have to bring you somewhere else. It is no longer safe for you to stay here.”

“What about Bobby?”

“The man you have been living with? I can take precautions to keep him protected, but I believe he would be in more danger coming with us than staying here.”

“Where exactly are you taking me? I have to get a few things. And I’m not leaving without talking to Bobby.”

“Time is of the utmost importance—”

“—I’m sure it is.” Emma interrupted with a bitter snap. “But right now my arm is broken, I was supposed to be home an hour ago, and no offense but you seared the shit out of my insides.”

“It was—”

“—Necessary. Yeah. I got that. Can you heal like Jophiel? You must have done something back when Azazel jumped me.” 

Emma took the opportunity in the angel’s pause to pick up her messenger bag and various weapons, placing them back inside and looking expectantly back at Castiel, who still hadn’t answered.

“Hello? Did I break you or something? Can you fix my arm or not?”

“I…can.” Castiel’s tone seemed wary. “But you will not like how.”

“Can’t possibly hurt as much as you branding my ribcage.”

“It is not painful, but it involves being very close. I have seen other humans exchange affections in a similar way.”

Realization hit Emma slowly, then all at once. She cringed. “Did you kiss me?”

“I passed a fraction of my grace on to you.”

“By kissing me?”

“I…suppose. It was not the way it sounds.”

“No wonder Dean wouldn’t tell me a damn thing about it. You’re twisted if you think I’m doing that.”

“It was the only way I could heal you. I am not a seraph or an archangel. I do not have the power to heal injuries like they would. I…am not sure how I was able to pass some of my power on to you.”

“Apparently by being a huge creep.”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped some, though the look plastered on his face was one of more annoyance than anything. “If we do not leave soon, it will not matter how much ‘creep’ you think I am, because we will both be dead.”

“Fine, fine dammit.” Emma brought the back over her shoulder and cradled her broken arm close. “C’mon. Bobby’s is right up the road.”

“I know.”

“Shut up.”

Castiel kept some semblance of distance, though not as much as before when he’d been stalking her on her way back to the junkyard. It was enough to help her feel comfortable, but not quite so much that she couldn’t feel him practically at her heels. She made her way to the house in a record amount of time given how off-kilter she still felt, and to her disdain, the lights were on.

“He’s awake. Just…stay back until I have a chance to explain things to him.”

“He cannot harm me.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about. Just…stay here.”

“…Okay.”

Assured that the angel would stay as she’d asked, Emma cautiously entered the house through the back door, only to top-notch done just as Bobby usually left it for her. She gently stepped in through the doorway, not wanting to wake Bobby too abruptly if he’d fallen asleep with the TV on again waiting up for her. The house was illuminated, but eerily quiet, whereas she’d become very accustomed to coming home with some fishing channel blaring in the background. Frowning, Emma dropped her messenger bag to the side and grasped the angel blade in her good hand. With these angels popping up out of nowhere, it felt like the safer bet while she tiptoed through the house. She could make out the back of Bobby’s head in his armchair, followed by the reassuring sound of his deep-throated snores. She relaxed some, crossing through the kitchen into the living room and coming up beside him. The TV remote was in his hand, but it looked as though he must’ve turned it off at some point. She nudged his shoulder with the hilt of the angel blade.

“Bobby? Bobby wake up.”

The old hunter, usually so in-tune and alert to his surroundings, didn’t stir. Emma frowned and reached for his face, pressing her fingers along his neck. But he was definitely breathing, snoring away as loudly as always. She nudged him again, speaking louder.

“Bobby! Hey!”

“He won’t wake right now.” A deep voice slashed through the silent house, startling Emma back a step before she quickly reaffirmed her grip on the angel blade.

A man entered the room, different than the one from earlier. He was intimidatingly tall, dark skin and eyes, bald, and built with broad shoulders. Unwavered, Emma kept her broken arm close to her chest and the blade out, the only warning the man would get if he dared to step any closer. “Is there no end to you guys? What the hell did you do to Bobby?”

“Nothing irreversible.” The angel shrugged, tone far deeper than Castiel’s. “As long as you are cooperative, he will wake once we leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You will if you would like for your friend here to live.”

“If you put another finger on my father, I’ll—”

The angel was in her space suddenly, but Emma’s hand reacted just as quickly, raising the angel blade up to his throat and forcing it to freeze. The angel’s eyes darkened some, moving his head ever so slightly as though testing her. A trickle of blood appeared, and it was more than enough to make it freeze.

“Where did you get that?” He demanded, any iota of pleasantry completely gone.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“That is a weapon of heaven. No human—”

“— I don’t care.” Emma interrupted, pressing the blade in harder to cut him off. “What matters is that I have it, and I know what it can do. So unless you’re planning to leave of your own free will…”

“Emma.”

“Castiel…” The angel mused, though an edge of bitterness surrounded it as the trenchcoated angel entered the room, coming up to the Winchester’s side and stilling a hand on her wrist. “You were ordered to stay in Heaven.”

“Uriel, I believe I know what Jophiel is planning.” Castiel ignored it. “I think Emma could be of great use–“

“—You were not tasked to think. You were tasked to stay.” Tension settled through the room, punctuated by the older hunter’s reassuring snores from his armchair, and Castiel’s grip loosening on the hand that was at the angel, now Uriel’s, throat. Uriel appeared to notice, his tone evening. “Return to Heaven at once, or I’ll be forced to report this.”

Castiel hesitated only a moment. “No.”

“Castiel…are you choosing to disobey a second time?” Uriel’s became shameful, eyes closing. “I thought I knew my garrison. My brother. You would never—”

“—Stop.”

Emma stilled. If necessary, she would turn the blade on Castiel as well. Jophiel warned her not to trust him, and here it seemed the reason was before her. Castiel was an obedient servant of Heaven. And if Heaven wanted her, she wouldn’t be taken without a fight. For yet another moment, the room was still. Castiel’s grip still light on her wrist that held the blade at Uriel’s throat; it was as though they were all awaiting someone to make the first move. The blood from the cut on her face tickled along her neck, an irritation settling just above her brow where Eleanor’s blade nearly took her eye. Nothing in Bobby’s training could have prepared her for this.

Castiel finally broke the silence, meeting his brother’s gaze, pleading. “As my brother…please. Will you allow me a moment to explain?”

Uriel seemed to consider for a moment, glancing down at the blade. “Only if the human agrees to disarm.”

Emma trusted neither Castiel nor Uriel, but she slowly lowered her wielding arm, refusing Uriel’s extended hand to take the blade from her. They wouldn’t get that far. Though Uriel’s gaze hardened into annoyance, he folded his hands over his torso and gave Castiel his attention. With the situation momentarily defused, Castiel reached for the portion of his untucked shirt that he’d been reaching for earlier. His side turned, displaying whatever it was he needed to argue his stance on his bare skin to Uriel. The other angel’s eyes widened, and as Emma tried to step forward to get a better look, Uriel immediately invaded her space, gripping her shirt and throwing her into the neighboring wall. Emma recovered as quickly as she could, scrambling to her feet in time to see Uriel draw an identical looking blade from out of his shirt sleeve, lunging after Castiel who only barely managed to get out of the way on time.

“Uriel, what--?!”

“—There shouldn’t be any more! They’re GONE!” Uriel lunged again, the blade ramming into the kitchen wall where Castiel’s head had been seconds before. “There can’t be—”

“--Can’t be what?” Castiel was back across the room, standing in front of Emma. “Uriel STOP!

Uriel was on them in an instant, and with another rough shove Emma was out of the way, Castiel’s jacket pinned to the wall by the angel blade. Uriel rammed his arm up against Castiel’s throat, effectively trapping him against the wall. Castiel shoved back, ramming his fists into Uriel’s chest, which seemed to do absolutely nothing. Uriel’s arm was replaced by a sudden glint of metal and Castiel stopped struggling, arching his neck as though he could avoid the cool edge of the angel blade.

“I’m sorry Castiel…” Uriel managed, digging the blade in against his brother’s throat. “I wanted you to join me, but this is for your own good.”

In the ensuing struggle, Emma appeared to have been forgotten by the intruding angel, which allowed her the opportunity to sneak behind him. Though she didn’t know Castiel, the angel seemed damn determined to help her, and she wanted some answers. Keeping the blade close in hand, she was just behind Uriel as he withdrew the blade from Castiel’s neck to plunge it into his chest. Emma struck first, ramming her own directly into the angel’s back, who released Castiel with a scream. Uriel’s blade dropped to the floor with a loud CLANG, eyes and mouth widening in an expression of horror and agony, white-blue light bursting from these same openings and encasing the room with its blinding force. Emma flinched away, and the moment she pulled the blade free all screams silenced, and with a thud Uriel dropped to the ground. Beneath him, scorched into the worn wooden flooring of the hunter’s cabin were what appeared to be enormous wings.

“Uriel…”

Emma’s eyes were slow to Castiel’s face, and the heartache written across the expressive angel’s features sent a surge of pain through her heart. She desperately searched for iron-clad edges to steel herself against it, but something about this damn angel had a way of wriggling into her core, bringing nothing but questions to her decisions. Castiel crouched beside his brother, tenderly reaching out to turn his face one way, then another, confirming to himself that the angel was actually gone.

Emma struggled for something to say, only managing a pathetic-sounding, “Cas...?”

The blue eyes met her face with such sharpness she backed away a step, moving the blood-coated angel blade back into her defensive stance. If Castiel was going to attack as well, so be it.

“He was going to kill you.” The hunter rationed, though the argument sounded almost pleading. She was disgusted at the sound of it. She repeated herself, adjusting her tone, hardening. “He was going to kill you.”

“He was still my brother.” Castiel replied, straightening up without ever breaking their gaze. “Could you have done it to your own brothers?”

“How do you know about my brothers?”

Castiel’s eyes shifted noticeably, anger and hurt subsiding into resignation with nothing more than an eyeblink to differentiate it. His shoulders eased away the tension and he reached down to pick up Uriel’s dropped blade. For a moment Emma backed away, running on reserves at this point from being thrown around and the throbbing pain in her head and arm. But Castiel merely stored the blade away in his coat. From the armchair, Bobby began to grunt and stir, fumbling to come out of the spell Uriel placed upon him. Emma started toward him, only to be stopped by Castiel, a hand placed over her mouth.

“We have to leave. It’s not safe for you here. If we go now, they will have no reason to bother him.”

Emma glared, swatting his hand away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The front door of the cabin swung open with a violent _slam!_ that startled them both back. Two figures entered, surrounded by the now annoyingly familiar angelic glow. Castiel groaned, forcibly wrapping an arm around Emma’s waist.

She furiously smacked at his chest with her good arm. “LET GO OF ME!”

“Castiel, STOP!”

“I am very sorry about this.” Castiel muttered before everything suddenly vanished around them, Emma’s feet leaving the ground and replaced with a sensation of weightlessness.

The warmth from the cabin pinched away with an intrusion of bitter cold, forcing into her very core. She struggled to breathe, and with nothing but darkness and cold surrounding her the images came back. Trapped behind glass. Weightlessness. Cold, freezing, frigid ice water stabbing into her lungs, prying her mouth open, down, down, down. Unable to see, unable to breathe. Darkness. Emma thrashed brutally against her restraints, arms bound, unable to get free. It lasted only an eternity, perhaps two, when the restraints suddenly went slack, a forceful jerking sending them her careening through the darkness without a single chance of stopping. Down and down she fell, further into that cold until it came to a sudden, sickening halt all at once.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was way-too-damn-early-o’clock when Dean’s cell phone began to buzz, irritatingly vibrating the nightstand. Sam wrenched a pillow at him from across the room.

“Get the damn phone!”

“Ugghhhh…” Dean groaned, slapping his hand on the device and flipping open the top without glancing. “What?”

“Nice to hear from you too, kid.” Bobby sounded far more irritated than Dean was. “Only took me six tries to get ahold of ya.”

“We had a case in Nebraska. Sammy and I just got back to the room an hour ago. It’s 3am, old man. Someone better be dead for you to be callin’.”

“Emma’s missing.”

Dean paused for a moment, sitting upright some with his weight resting on his left forearm. “I didn’t mean that. C’mon, Bobby. It’s too early for this shit.”

“Kid, would I be calling you if I was just yankin your chain?”

“What do you mean she’s missing?” Dean reached over to the dusty lamp on the nightstand and flicked it on, drawing an angry groan from Sam.

“I mean she ain’t here! What the hell do you think I mean?” Bobby’s frustration was giving away with an underlying panic that had Dean already scrambling out of bed to get his jeans pulled on. “She went to work tonight, I stayed up to wait like usual, next thing I know, I’m waking up at 2:45 and there’s blood all over my damn house.”

“Emma’s?” Dean’s panic began to resurface as well, throwing Sam’s jeans at him as well. The younger brother finally began to realize why Dean was moving so frantically and sprung into action as well.

“Hard to tell. My entire damn living room is overturned with blood and there’s a friggin’ corpse on my floor.”

“How the hell did you miss this??”

“They put me under, Dean! How the hell should I know?! I don’t even know what we’re dealing with here! This no ash, no copper smell, this couldn’t have been a demon. No way they would’ve gotten in my damn house.”

An answer was worryingly ready to clarify on Dean’s lips, but now was not the time to explain. “I think I know what might’ve happened. Give us a few hours, Sammy and I will be there before sunrise. Don’t friggin’ shoot us, alright?”

“Hurry, kid. I – We can’t lose her.”

Dean snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into his front pocket, grabbing their things around the room and haphazardly stuffing them into whatever available suitcase was closest. Sam moved just as quickly, already in his shirt and hopping around on one foot to tug his shoe on.

“Maybe we should’ve taken her with us…” Sam broke the silence, working on his next shoe.

“With how dangerous things have been?” Dean snapped back. “After Dad, and you, and me…we just…we did the right thing. She was safe there.”

“And now she’s not, and we have no idea where she is. We left her without protection.”

“She can handle herself.”

“We’ve seen what these things can do. She’s not any safer than we are.”

“Enough, Sam!” Dean sighed, hearing the hurt in Sam’s expression without even needing to look at his face. “Look, we don’t need to lose ourselves in the blame game of what we should’ve or shouldn’t of done. We made a choice together and now we gotta deal with it. Cas said he was keeping the angels away—”

“—What if he lied?” Sam supplied as he closed up one of the backpacks and slipped it over his shoulder. “Or what if something happened to him? Have you tried calling him?”

“The guy just shows up when he wants. It’s not like I got a tracking device on him.” Dean glanced around the room, sighing. “Cas? Cas can you hear us? CAS!”

The Winchesters waited for a few moments – sometimes it took Castiel some time to get from Point A to Point B. But after five minutes, they couldn’t wait any longer. Emma’s life could be in danger, and that meant they needed to figure out what the hell happened, with or without Cas’ help. Sam and Dean were quick to load up the car and Dean peeled off toward Sioux Falls like a bat out of hell. Sam was unnervingly quiet, supplying no helpful remarks, not even attempting to make small talk. Dean fiddled with the radio stations until he became too frustrated with the constantly changing hiss between stations and finally left it alone. The brothers were both harboring the same guilt-driven doubts about the situation at hand. Their intention of keeping Emma out of the lifestyle had been done for good reason, but that damnable angel had warned them that there was nothing to be done to keep Heaven from getting what they wanted. Sam and Dean made the decision together: Emma was out. It was easy enough to enforce when Bobby intercepted any form of contact the brothers tried to make with her. He agreed to help them every once in awhile when the situations were dire, but under the stipulation that they remain out of contact with Emma, for her own safety.

And then Sam had died. And Dean resurrected him, then died as well. Castiel came into their lives immediately after, and the angel seemed to have genuine concern for the family. He was instructed to bring Emma to Heaven immediately when she was found, as the road to the Apocalypse had begun due to Dean’s own actions. The angel elected to protect Emma, but advised the brothers that no matter what they did, she was on borrowed time. If Dean would’ve known borrowed meant near-immediate, he’d of been at her side much sooner than this. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, and he’d been working on it. ‘Hey Em, so we’ve been back in business for two years now, oh by the way Dad’s dead, and Sam died, and I died, and now we’ve started the Apocalypse’ seemed like a piss poor way to start when they hadn’t spoken in eight years.

“We never should’ve left her behind.” Sam’s broken voice was another icy dagger to Dean’s heart. “We’re supposed to be her family. How are we any better than Dad?”

“We didn’t leave her for dead, Sammy.” Dean grunted in response, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

Sam finally looked Dean’s way, but his brother’s eyes were on the road. “Didn’t we?”

Dean couldn’t find a way to respond.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Uriel’s dead.”

Michael looked up from his desk as Raphael entered. He sighed at his brother. “The door was closed for good reason.”

“Did you not hear me, Michael?”

“Uriel’s dead. I understand. He was traitorous. Such a pity to lose another of our own. Now if you will please—”

“—Zachariah has informed me that Castiel is also gone.”

Michael finally stilled, though did not look up. “I thought we were told he was under control.”

“He has connected with her again. Eleanor reported in that Castiel fought in defense of her and banished them. We believe he may have also killed Uriel.”

“That’s not possible.” Michael interjected, slamming his pen down on the table. He straightened up, stepping down the few marble stairs leading up to his planning space to stand beside Raphael. “Where are they now?”

“He has hidden her.” Raphael answered, tension evident in his tone. “And if they are together, he will be impossible to locate.”

“Do they know?”

“We don’t know. If not, they certainly will soon.”

“But the memories are gone, correct?”

“Stored, as you requested.”

“Get rid of them.”

“Michael—”

“—I wasn’t asking, Raphael. Get rid of them. Is Zachariah still watching the brothers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. It won’t be long until the Winchesters are all reunited. They won’t be able to stay away, and it will be far easier to keep an eye on this situation when they are. Instruct Zachariah to call off the girl’s retrieval, and to leave the Winchesters alone. I can no longer allow our sister to take on this vessel. But she will make for perfect bait to achieve my own.”

“Why not just kill the girl and use the brother as bait?”

“Castiel is too close.”

“So have him killed, then kill her.”

Michael glowered at his brother. “Do you not remember the War on the Marked? How many of our brothers and sisters were lost trying to eliminate the Paired?”

“I remember…” Raphael looked away. “But surely you could handle one—”

“—If Jophiel obtains a vessel of a Paired, she will be unstoppable.” Michael interrupted. “We failed to handle this issue appropriately when it presented itself, and now we must either deal with it, or use it as an opportunity. I will not wipe out my ranks trying to eliminate the Paired. Let them be. We will not make enemies of them. They do not have the memories, and they will not be fully capable of what they once were. When I have obtained my vessel, I will harvest the Paired’s power, and use that to put an end to Lucifer and Jophiel.”

“What if the girl says yes to Jophiel again?”

“I feel this is unlikely. Jophiel will want to obtain more power to compel her vessel to say yes.”

“You think she will get strong enough to overpower a Paired?”

“I don’t know.” Michael admitted. “But we have time. Instruct Zachariah to keep all eyes on the Winchesters at all times.”

“What of Castiel?”

“Distance will weaken them as normal. If he should return to Heaven, have him arrested and executed at once. But do not attempt to retrieve him. After this latest uprising, I will not lose any other soldiers to nothing more than a minor inconvenience.”

“Wouldn’t the simplest solution be to execute them before they gain too much power?”

“I may need that strength myself to put Jophiel and Lucifer away.”

“We could have her locked away like Persephone.” Raphael offered arguably. “There are other options that don’t require you to try and harness the power of a Paired.”

“Think so little of me, brother?” Michael mused, returning up the marble steps to his table. “I am Father’s firstborn. I am his rightful heir in his absence. And I will not allow a loophole in his pet project to be my downfall.”

Raphael straightened. “It’s not that I think little of you. It is that even our power is outmatched to a Paired. Father made them powerful for a reason.”

“Father did not _make_ them anything.” Michael interrupted yet again. “It was a fluke in his design. He was so impassioned with the creation of Adam and Eve, and as they began to populate the Earth, more began to appear.”

“How would you know this? How would you know what Father--?”

“—ENOUGH!”

Michael’s blue eyes flashed warningly and the walls gave a small tremor. Raphael cleared his throat and managed to keep his composure, but at his core he continued to worry. Michael did not lose his cool easily. He was worried as well.

“I will pass along your orders.” Raphael concluded, taking his exit from the room before he could sink beneath his brother’s skin further.

Michael watched him go, eyes following the crack in the doorway until he was certain they were shut. Glaring down at the table beneath his glowing palms, the eldest archangel began to reformulate his plan.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Great job keeping an eye on her, Bobby.” Dean lashed out the very moment they stepped inside the old hunter’s home. “You tell us we gotta keep our distance and then—”

“—Dean.” Sam slapped his brother’s chest. “This isn’t anybody’s fault except the people who kidnapped her.”

“You think you got an idea?” Bobby looked exhausted, far more than they’d ever seen him look before. The skin under his eyes was irritated and wrinkled, hair a mess and sticking out in wild curls from his ballcap. He scrubbed his hands down his face as though he could tell Dean was sensing his fatigue. Across the floor was the body as Bobby had indicated, a familiar pattern of scorch marks imbedded into the hardwood.

“Yeah but…you’re gonna wanna sit down for this.”

Dean spent the next half-hour or so explaining everything to Bobby, making sure that the old man had all the details this time around. Maybe if they’d been more upfront years ago… but there was no reason to dwell when all it did was waste time. Dean explained about the angels, about the angel that’d possessed Emma before, why she survived that night, and the angel they’d encountered recently that had been constantly visiting and warning them that something worse was coming. By the end, Bobby had a beer can clenched in one hand and whacked both brothers on the head with his hat.

“You idjits!” He snapped. “Not one of ya has a lick of sense, do you?”

“We didn’t think you’d believe us.” Sam flinched away from another hat-attack.

“ ‘Course I wouldn’t of believed ya! But now I got an angel corpse burned into my god -damn living room rug!”

“It’s how Dean got out of Hell.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me of that.” Bobby grumbled. “Was hard enough keeping your Dad’s death a secret, to then have to hide and cope with the fact that you died…god damn. So. How do we get in touch with this ‘Castiel’?”

“We don’t. He usually just comes to us at random. We’ve tried calling and praying to him, but he hasn’t shown up.”

“So, we’ve got absolutely no leads and no place to start looking.” Bobby managed, crestfallen.

“Not unless we can bag ourselves another angel to interrogate.”

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing.” Sam stood up, going to one of his bags and digging out his laptop. “Someone, somewhere must’ve encountered an angel and put some info online. What about Cas’ vessel? Can we track him down?”

“We don’t know his real name. I think he mentioned Jimmy at one point but that’s as far as I got.”

Bobby remained oddly silent, the empty beer can anxiously twiddling between each finger. Sam caught it first, giving Dean an indicative nudge.

“Hey…Bobby…” Sam cleared his throat when Dean just shrugged in the typical ‘you handle the emotional crap better than I do’ way. “Look, we’re gonna find her.”

“This is my god damn fault. I never should’ve kept you two away.” Bobby clenched the can, crushing it in his hand as tears threatened to collect in the pinched, wrinkled, pale skin beneath his eyes. “You’re just as much my kids as she is, and I separated ya.”

“We chose to stay apart.” Sam argued, passing his laptop over to Dean. “We thought this would be best for her.”

“She asked about ya, y’know? Practically every god damn day. I got a bunch of letters I need to give ya, she tried writin’ to ya when you were at Stanford. Bunch of ‘em got sent back after you dropped out. I couldn’t let her know.”

“Dwelling on the past isn’t going to bring her back now.” Came Dean’s clipped response.

“Dean—”

“—No. Don’t you dare, Sam. We did everything that you asked and kept our distance, and now we got no damn idea where Emma is! Nothing is ever safe for us, and when we do get her back, I ain’t lettin’ her out of my sight ever again.”

Bobby wiped at his eyes before fixing Dean with an icy glare. “It’s not like I knew this would happen. If you idjits had been honest with me in the first place, I could’ve spent the last eight years preparing for god-damn angels!”

“We cut off all contact with her at your demand! We could’ve told her about Cas, about the Apocalypse, all this stuff. But instead, you let us believe that she was livin’ some happy little domestic life with a job and house saving and all kinds of normal crap!” Dean nearly launched the laptop across the room, caught only by Sam’s impeccable sense of timing and set aside safely while Dean got in Bobby’s personal space, gripping the arms of the chair so their faces were level. “She was no better off with you than she was with Dad.”

“Dean!”

Bobby was out of his seat in an instant, cracking Dean across the face with an open palm that echoed a _thwap!_ in the dimly lit living room. Dean reeled back a step, hand over the sore area. Sam stood between them now, hands out and cautious to stop any further retaliation.

“Enough. Enough. We can slap each other stupid, or we can figure out where Emma is. So, if you two want to sit here and slap the shit out of each other, be my guest. But I’m not wasting anymore time.”

Dean realized something in that same moment, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “Sam. What about your twin thing?”

“I…” Sam’s face fell. “I cut that off years ago.”

“So open it back up!”

“Just because we’re connected doesn’t mean I can feel out where she’s at. We’ve tried that before.”

“And now we’re gonna try it again! Her life might depend on it—”

“—It depended on it last time too!”

“Sam!” Dean barked, pushing his taller brother into a seat. “I know you’re nervous. But we’ve gotta try something. Unless you wanna get Ruby in here and send her after Em.”

“Do I wanna know?” Bobby interrupted, arms folded and looking at the brothers expectantly.

“Later.” Dean waved him off. “Sam…c’mon. What’ve we got to lose?”

“I don’t know…how _it_ might affect her if I do.”

“We don’t have a lot of options here. Castiel ain’t answering, and Emma might be on some borrowed time. I’m not gonna let her slip through our fingers again.”

Sam considered for several tense moments, eyes darting between Bobby and Dean, thinking back to all of that demon blood he’d been feasting on for weeks, about what it might do to have his mental powers pry open his link to his sister again. But Dean was right. Dean was always right. He nodded finally, and Dean gave him a gentle clap on the back, sitting down beside him.

“What do we gotta do?”

“Nothing. Just sit here and let me focus.”

Sam closed his eyes, reaching into the recesses of his mind where, years ago, he’d buried the memories of his sister away when he was starting his new life. It wasn’t a decision he’d come to lightly, but the moment Jess was gone and Dean was back, their agreement with Bobby meant cutting Emma out for good. He reached for that connection, a worn and withered little tether now buried beneath pools of red that fired a million and one synapses at the same time. But the tether was there, and he prodded at the weak link gently at first, then all at once, bringing life back to the gray little tendril. It pulsated lightly, as though it were a vein getting used to channeling blood through it. They’d never truly gone in-depth with practicing their twinning abilities, but if there were ever a time…

_Em--?_

“GUH-AHHH!”

Sam lunged forward from his seat, and the only thing stilling him from going head-first through Bobby’s coffee table were Dean’s arms. He was hauled back onto the couch, unable to open his eyes, a violent stabbing through their bond like injecting snake venom straight into his brain.

“SAM?! SAM WHAT’S GOING ON?!”

“GET HIM A GOD DAMN BELT! SAM!”

Sam continued to scream and thrash, the toxicity spreading through every inch of his skull and searing the crimson pools with mists of green and blue. Something went between his teeth with incredible effort to stop him from crushing his own teeth together, stifling his screams and nearly suffocating him. For what felt like an eternity he seized and screamed, eyes flying open and unleashing an all-too-familiar blue-white light from his eyes. Bobby flinched away while Dean fought to keep Sam as still as possible, squeezing his eyes shut and holding Sam in place only through his body weight and iron-like grip on the belt between his lips.

Finally, Sam went still. Dean ever so cautiously removed the belt from between his lips and checked his brother’s breathing. Uneven, but constant breaths puffed out of a rasping chest, and Dean patted Sam’s face. “Sam. Sammy? Sammy you alright?”

A low groan was the only response he got for several minutes, and Sam’s eyes opened slowly, eyes appearing glassy and unfocused. “…Dean?”

“Yeah. You alright? What happened?”

Sam thought for another moment, raising a violently shaking hand. “It’s gone. All the demon blood’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credit to Molly Kate Kestner. I absolutely adore this song, though I'm personally not religious.   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35say5G5cz8


	5. Chapter 5

Jophiel’s substitute vessel was falling apart at the seams, almost quite literally, the more power she gained. It wasn’t just restoring herself to almost her full power. No…if she were going to fight Michael, Raphael, and Father, it would require much more than just her sub-par archangel powers. Unfortunately, it also meant the lives of a few humans. Virgins, to be specific, which is how she ended up in a crowded bar on a Friday night. It took a great deal of her abilities to keep her vessel in a constant state of healing, otherwise the potential to successfully target someone diminished greatly. Vanessa needed repair constantly circulating to keep the holes and patches and marred skin perfectly intact. She’d wasted a great deal of time trying to free Lucifer when she should have spent it preparing herself for war, but the ordeal had been useful. Only one fraction of her Grace was left unaccounted for, and she had control of a handful of demons scouring the world for it.  
The humans were a new necessity, an interesting tidbit of information she’d learned from Lucifer. Demons could possess but they could not order the humans to do things they refused to prior to possession. In fact, some humans even managed to overpower demons at times. Something like this would never be feasible unless a human was willing. Which was exactly Jophiel’s specialty. It’s almost as though father had vehemently ignored this potential side effect under the guise that his children would never be capable of doing such a thing. Father also never considered that his sons would plot an attack on their sister and the world. There were a lot of this that he seemed to ignore…wherever it was that he’d been hiding over the last several millennia.

Sipping her drink, Jophiel caught the eye of her target at last, though she was quick to flick her gaze away again, a sultry hand scaling up Vanessa’s smooth leg and exposing a bit of thigh. The women were more difficult to entice, but the men turned to dogs at just a little show of skin and a sexy smile. A man sitting beside her target clapped him on the back, handing him another drink that he shot-gunned like a pro before her target was stumbling upright and approaching her booth. Jophiel lazily traced her finger along the rim of her margarita glass, only side-eyeing her man when he stood beside her, deep-breathing, slim build but short, with a small belly and coke-bottle glasses.

“H-Hey…Hi. I’m a uh…I’m—” He stammered, and Jophiel fought down the urge to roll her eyes. “Ben. I’m Ben.”

“Vanessa.” She replied coolly.

“V-Vanessa. Right. Hot name. Cool name. Can I get you a drink?”

“I already have one, but—” She finally met his gaze, green eyes flashing just once, and he was already hers. “Sit.”

The human’s eyes reflected back a similar green hue before he scrambled into the seat across from her, setting his drink down, transfixed by her stare. She could smell the purity on him beneath the layers of Old Spice and some resale cologne with a bitter aftertaste. The purity was all she truly needed anyways, but it made killing the time nearly unbearable.

“In fifteen minutes, you will walk away from my booth and tell any friends you have here that you are going back to your place to ‘get some’.” Jophiel continued, her eyes forcibly compelling the human to her will. “You will turn off your cell phone, and you will show me where you live.”

“Yes…I can’t wait to show you my apartment.” Ben murmured hypnotically. “You’ll love it.”

“Mm…I’m sure I will.”

Fifteen minutes of casual conversation, her familiar fleck of green briefly sparked in Ben’s eyes, and he was up from his seat, practically sprinting through the bar back to his friends. There was some whooping and hollering from across the way, and within another five or so moments Ben was back, jacket over his arm and excitedly shifting from foot to foot.

“You sure you wanna come back to my place?”

“Oh yes,” Jophiel purred, draping Vanessa’s arms around his shoulder. “Show me your place.”

She linked eyes with the human again, stroking a hand along his face and taunting him with a gentle kiss. “And when we get there…” She held his gaze firmly. “You will want to give me anything I ask you for.”

“Yes…yes! I’ll do anything for you!”

“I know you will.”

They left the bar hand-in-hand, Ben excitedly chatting away as he led her to a series of mediocre looking apartments about a block away. Chivalrous as anything, Ben draped his jacket around Vanessa’s shoulders, and for the briefest of moments, Jophiel considered what it was she was doing. But it was gone a moment later as they trudged up the stairwell to Ben’s fourth floor studio apartment, nothing more than a mattress with a sheet and throw blanket on it, a two-seater couch with visible food stains, an x-box, and typical bathroom/kitchen appliances. Jophiel fought the need to wrinkle her nose in disgust, discarding Ben’s jacket carelessly on the floor as her victim stood stock-still, grinning like an idiot.

“What would you like me to do for you?”

“Sweet boy…” Jophiel caressed his face again, her body pressed into his eagerly awaiting hands, emerald eyes in full flare and compelling, voice like honey. “I want you to take the sharpest object you have, and I want you to slit your throat for me. You will do this by first saying a prayer to the archangel, Jophiel. She will bestow a blessing upon you, and your soul will become a part of her.”

Ben didn’t hesitate, poor thing, rushing over into his kitchen area and returning with a long chef’s knife. He immediately dropped to his knees, still smiling, holding the flat edge of the blade against his throat as he awaited the next phase of instruction.

“That’s good. You’re making Jophiel very happy. Now, repeat after me.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was far longer than she cared to acknowledge that Emma realized the darkness surrounding her was artificial and not one from unconsciousness or night. Small slits of daybreak crept in through whatever was blanketing her, soft and dripping with dew. Emma grunted in frustration, taking her weight off her broken arm with a stifled whimper of pain, trying to free herself from the cocoon of dark. As she extended the fingers of her good hand, her makeshift prison became far less of one with the realization of the object. She brushed her fingertips along the ridges of each feather, as majestic looking as one that would come from an eagle, but longer, darker, and far softer than any feather she’d felt before. Oddly enough she was comforted and warmed by their presence, each individual strand producing a small, but comfortable temperature, like one would expect from another’s body. She pushed at the feathers, fighting to get upright. They resisted for a moment, but eventually allowed her to push past and crawl free from the cocoon.

Quite literally, there was nothing around but patches of grass, snow, and empty fields. If there were any farms nearby, it was impossible to make them out without the full aid of the sun, which only barely began to creep up the green hillsides and provide light to the countryside. Snow stuck to the sides of her sneakers, and with each unsteady exhale she could visibly see her breath in the air in front of her. Cradling her damaged arm close, Emma turned to the cocoon of feathers, following along the wing path until they came to a stop at a tan back. The trenchcoat. Castiel. These were actual angel wings, like the kind she’d seen burned into Bobby’s floor. Was Bobby safe? Everything from the evening came back with stark clarity, and Emma quickly dropped beside Castiel and grabbed his shoulder. The angel didn’t appear to be injured, but with it only being twenty degrees out and no way to get her bearings, she was going to need his help.

“Hey. Hey! Castiel! Wake up!”

After a moment or so of shaking and prodding, the angel’s eyes opened cautiously, his wings folding behind his back and completely disappearing. His head titled from one way to the next as he tried to understand his surroundings, realizing only then that they were not at his intended destination. Castiel’s brows knitted together in a look of utter confusion, getting himself into a seated position before carefully back onto his feet.

“Where are we?”

“You don’t know?” Emma muttered irritably. “You’re the one that brought us here.”

Castiel’s confused gaze further hardened. “No…not here. I was taking you to a safehouse.”

“Well you undershot it and brought me to a safe-field instead. Good job. Now take me home.”

“You can’t go back there.” Castiel replied flatly, standing upright and brushing clinging bits of snow from his pants.

“I can, and I will, even if I have to walk all the way there.” Emma rubbed her arm gently, the throbbing in her head and arm worsening with each passing second. It was freezing up on the hillside in nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt, and was likely not going to warm up until mid-day. The brief spurts of wind that brushed against the cut along her face caused an itching, burning-like sensation. She needed out of this cold.

“We’re somewhere in Montana. The walk back to the junkyard would be…arduous. You look unwell. I don’t believe walking back would be a wise decision.”

“I don’t care what you think. Everything was going fine until you showed up and brought your brothers and sisters along.”

“I did not bring them.”

“They didn’t show up until you did!” Emma snapped, her back to the angel as she started down the hillside without him. “You either led them right to me or your siblings have a wonderful sense of timing.”

Castiel grabbed at her good wrist, holding her in place and glaring. She hadn’t even noticed him move. His hard expression of a man who’d had enough of being barked at, but with the intensity of a creature that could easily snap her other arm. “I have been protecting you for far longer than you may remember. The only reason we are in this field is because you knocked me unconscious.”

Emma jerked her arm free. “Maybe if you’d left me alone like I told you to, neither of us would be here. You can fly. Beat it. I’ll find my own way back.”

The angel’s gaze drifted down to her broken arm and he frowned. “You look very unwell.”

“You said that already, I’m flattered.” Emma replied sardonically. “But if you’re not the fixing up injuries kind of angel, we don’t have anything to discuss. So, you can either fly me back to Bobby’s –”

“—I already told you I can’t do that.”

“—Or,” She continued with a snap. “You can take me to my father and brother, John and Dean Winchester. Whatever danger you think is oncoming, Dean will know what to do.”

The angel cocked his head ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Hell is not a place we would ever go.”

“Who said anything about Hell?”

“You said to bring you to John Winchester.”

The seconds of confusion ticked on, never reaching quite a full minute before the realization hit Emma like a punch to the chest. She leaned forward slightly trying to find her breath, head spinning and pulse racing in her ears, drowning out the sound of Castiel’s voice. Dad…was in Hell? John was dead? And nobody had said a thing to her. Not even Bobby had passed it along. They hadn’t spoken since the night she’d nearly died, when John had sought revenge over the life of his daughter, and yet she could feel pinpricks of tears threatening to well up in the corner of her eyes. On her knees she curled into herself. Sam…was Sam still out? It would make sense why he’d shut her out if he was back with Dean. Both her brothers would have some ridiculous idea about keeping her safe but staying as far away as possible. She could kill them. Clenching the grass in her free hand, her grip only loosened on the earth when Castiel’s hand gently prodded it apart.

“I’m sorry. There was nothing anyone could do for him.”

“I…didn’t even know he died.” Emma managed, swallowing away the tension in her throat. “How long has he—?”

“—A few years.”

“How?”

“He sacrificed his life in exchange for Dean’s. The first time.”

The pain only continued to pile on, Emma fighting to keep her breath steady. “…the first time?”

Castiel appeared wary of continuing. “We need to get out of this clearing and someplace with better protection.”

“What’s happened to my family, Castiel? My brothers? My Dad? Tell me.”

“I understand you’re upset,” Cas interrupted as placatingly as he could while helping Emma rather forcefully back up onto her feet. “But all of Heaven and Hell is looking for you.”

“Why? Just take a damn second and explain this to me.” Emma wrenched free of his hold again, staggering back a step or two before falling on her ass with an uncoordinated trip over her own two feet. “What the hell is going on?”

“Jophiel,” Cas finally answered, frustration evident in his tone. “There are whispers that she’s begun to work with Lucifer. If she is able to locate you, I fear you may be unable to resist becoming her vessel. Some of my brothers and sisters have already begun to evacuate our ranks to be on her side for the coming war. Jophiel intends on purging Heaven first so only she and her loyalists remain. I assume her next task would be to do the same with humanity.”

“Why does she need me to do that? Why am I such a key player here?”

“Michael.” Cas continued. “Michael will have every intention of stopping her. In order to fight him, she needs to take on a tangible form, as does he. The one she is using at this time would be falling apart, unable to contain her with her rising power.”

“Michael? Like, the one who threw her out? Who’s his vessel, then?”

The look on Castiel’s face gave her the answer before he had a chance to say it. “Dean.”

“Has he—?”

“Not to my knowledge. I don’t believe he has any intention to, either.”

“So, then what’s the worry? If I don’t say yes and Dean doesn’t say yes, then there’s no angel fight for Heaven.”

“The laws of God decree that we must obtain consent before entering and using a vessel.” Cas paused, heavenly blue eyes fixed on her face. “But there are no laws saying how that consent must be obtained.”

Emma rose to her feet slowly, forcing away the wince as she moved her broken arm ever so slightly into a better position. “Meaning…that they could really do anything at all to force us to say yes.”

“They couldn’t kill you, but they could make you beg for death.”

“If Jophiel is partnered up with Lucifer that would explain why Hell is looking for me. But why Heaven? Just to use as a bargaining tool to force Dean into consenting?”

“I was left out of my garrison’s plans,” Cas explained, running a hand down his face. “I was ordered to stay and not assist in your retrieval. There was nothing more explained to me. Now that we are here, I believe it may be the intent to kill you before Jophiel can try to reach you.”

“You said I might not be able to resist Jophiel.” Emma asked, starting down the hillside as the gears began to turn in her head. Maybe Castiel did have a point after all. “I’ve been tortured before. I can handle it. She won’t get a yes out of me.”

“My brothers and sisters loyal to Michael would not be willing to take that chance. It is nearly impossible for humans to defy the power of an archangel, and you have cast her out once already. The next likelihood of success is nonexistent”

“What sort of power are you talking about?”

“Compulsion.”

“…What?”

Cas followed along her side, eyes not so subtly glancing down every once in awhile at her feet, as though he were preparing just to grab her up again. He looked back up at her face quickly. “Do you not know the role of Jophiel?”

“Uh, no. Not much anyways. Only that she was supposedly the beauty of God. Like all of God’s manifestation of all things beautiful in one being. We tried to do some research on her but it’s almost like she was wiped from his—” Emma tripped up again on a slick patch of sleet, firm hands steadying her before she could fall on her ass again. She nodded her thanks to the angel, who gently released her. “History.”

“She used that beauty in order to coerce tentative souls into passing into Heaven. She met them at the gates, and as they would look into the ‘eyes of God’, they’d find their inner most desires in her, and they’d find ultimate peace. From there, she would be able to escort their souls onwards.”

Emma stopped walking for a brief moment. “I’m confused. So, she wasn’t really helping them, just forcing them to feel peace?”

“They found peace in her eyes. That was the intention for them. Like…looking into the eyes of someone trusted. But now as she becomes more powerful, she may be able to force anyone, even her brothers, into bending to her will. We don’t know the extent of her capabilities. The information is as lost to humanity as it is to heaven.”

“And you think she’ll be able to force me to say yes.”

“And if she obtains you,” Cas replied with a curt nod. “She would have everything she needed to confront Michael.”

Emma fell silent for a moment, continuing to walk with slow, but purposeful strides. Jophiel had been her only source of comfort over the last eight years. The archangel visited in her dreams, sat and listened for awhile as Emma went on about meaningless day-to-day events. She never said much. But as she thought more about those nights, the more she realized that Jophiel’s silence was more damning than anything. She absorbed Emma’s frustrations, listened to her lament the abandonment of her family, all of these miniscule complaints that added up over time would be fuel to bait her later on. Not to mention, Jophiel had front row seats to the dependency she had on her brothers.

Emma hadn’t noticed how bad her shivering became until Castiel’s trenchcoat fell over her shoulders, immediately encasing her in the warmth of his vessel’s body heat. She considered shrugging it off, but Cas’ presence became oddly calming the longer she stuck near his side. Instead she pulled one of the ends around herself a bit more firmly and muttered a half-hearted “thanks”.

Emma considered her next words carefully, unsure if she actually wanted the question answered. “So…if you were ordered to stay in Heaven, why are you here?”

“To get you some place secure.”

“Your brothers and sisters are split between Michael and Jophiel. But you’re here with me instead. And, no offense Cas, but I don’t exactly know you, or your intentions.”

“I’ve been watching over you for a long time, I believe we discussed this. I met with Jophiel while she lived within you, I rescued you from Azazel, and when you moved in with Bobby, I protected you for as long as I could.” Cas muttered. “If that is not enough to prove my intentions, I’m not sure I would ever be able to prove them to you.”

“And creeped on me while I was in the bathroom when I was nine.”

“I did not ‘creep’ on you.” Cas retorted. “You reached into a rift between Heaven and Earth and were able to see my true form, and touch my hand. We don’t have physical forms inside of Heaven. My true form is as tall as your Chrysler Building, and any human whose eyes fall upon it would be unable to behold it.”

“English, please.”

“I am speaking English.”

“I meant, break that down so I can understand better, Christ.”

Cas tilted his head again. She noticed how often he did that when he appeared to not fully understand. “My true form would burn your eyes out.”

“So, what does that mean, then? Why am I able to see you or whatever?”

Castiel stopped walking and Emma paused too, turning to face him. The angel’s fingertips lingered at the portion of his untucked shirt where he’d exposed his bare skin to Uriel. The reaction caused the latter to go into a frenzy, and she’d forgotten to revisit it until now. Cas seemed to read the question on her face and lifted the fabric slowly, revealing an all too familiar silver mark seared in his flesh like a branding. Emma’s lips parted, a question, an accusation, anything ready to retort, but nothing came. Instead she closed the remainder of the distance between them, fingers grazing over the spot and finding the same warmth she experienced with her own. Though nearly identical, Castiel’s mark inverted, forming an exact opposite of her own. She quickly tugged up her shirt to reveal hers on her right hip, Cas’ on his left. If the two half-open marks were to be pressed together, a perfect circle would be formed.

Her spot began to glow, a soft hum emitting from the warmth of silver light. Even as her fingers fell away from the hem of her shirt she could still see the light become brighter with each passing second. She followed the movement of Cas’ fingers as he too released his shirt to let the fabric fall back into place. She hadn’t noticed how intimately close they became, both hovering in a zone of proximity that emitted a heat so astoundingly comfortable all thoughts of cold vanished. The pain in both her broken arm and throbbing head were nearly forgotten, and like it was nothing more than pure instinct, she reached out. Cas’ fingers met hers in the center where their bodies met, palms together and Cas’ larger hands overshadowing the tips of her fingers. She tried to find her breath, but even involuntary actions fell to the background as nothing had ever felt more important than this very moment with the angel. When their eyes finally met, Cas stared back with the intensity she could feel in her chest. She broke her gaze away to study their hands, a silver glow of comfort surrounding them.

The blue in Castiel’s eyes sharpened with the passing moments, his gaze drilling a hole inside her chest, warming her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. With parceled lips she fought to find something to say, but there were no words to describe this. Silver tendrils wrapped around her forearm, caressed her face with a softness that put fresh, new cotton towels to shame. She forced herself away, sharpening her mind against the moment unwillingly and dragging herself out of the muddiness.

Emma backed away and the intensity faded in an instant. Cold returned, early morning sunlight, reality. Cas studied his hand intently, slowly lifting his eyes back to her face. She finally found her breath, chest heaving with each unsteady inhale, heart hammering so intensely she could feel it in her throat. It was as though a moment in his proximity prodded at an unremembered history, and she desperately tried to reign in the need to return to his touch. She glanced down at her arm, finding the broken limb she’d been babying had spontaneously healed, leaving nothing behind but an angry looking bruise in its wake. She tested its durability, hyper-extending her arm and curling it back in. Stiff, but no longer broken.

“Spectacular, isn’t it?”

The sudden presence behind her went completely unnoticed until that very moment, but her hunter instincts took hold immediately. She swung her leg sharply to the right and managed to catch it off-guard, knocking the blonde onto the ground, though he immediately returned to his feet. Emma grabbed for the knife she kept latched around her bicep and jerked it free with a quick pull, trying to jam it into the man’s face when he caught her at the wrist and held her arm in place.

“Easy, easy!” The man tutted, twisting her wrist with enough pressure to force her to drop the knife. Emma stepped back out of his reach and prepared to throw herself back into it when Castiel’s hand gently grasped her shoulder. The man straightened out his jacket and shot Castiel an annoyed look. “Keep your ape in check, are we clear?”

“Balthazar.” Cas took a step forward, his left shoulder hooking ever so slightly in front of Emma’s body as if to keep some distance between them. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“It’s simple, really.” Emma tried to pinpoint the accent, though her first thought was British. “There’s no one in Heaven that knows you better than I do. Also, your little crash landing put a bloody crater in the middle of nowhere. So, you know, context clues and all that.”

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous to—”

“—Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m only here to lend you a quick hand, and then I’m back to being off the grid. I believe I still owed you after that nasty incident in Santa Monica circa 1884. And my friend, you definitely need a friend right now.”

“Sorry, but who the hell are you?” Emma interrupted boldly, moving away from Cas and snatching her knife out of the man’s hand.

“Balthazar. I’m the angel that’s going to help fill you in on the nitty gritty of what’s going on between the two of you. But first, standing out here in the open? Castiel, if you’re going to abandon ship, you do it the right way.”

“I had every intention of bringing her to a safe location.”

“Ah yes, so you could be sitting ducks when Michael and Jophiel’s armies show up?” Balthazar remarked condescendingly. “I’m all for ducking before the going gets tough, mate. But you should at least get to know what practically all of Heaven have been trying to keep from you for centuries.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cas demanded, the usual coolness to his voice abruptly sharpening like he anticipated some sort of game to follow.

“It means someone’s been messing with your memories, friend. And I know where they are.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean they’re missing?” Michael demanded, his face surprisingly calm but his tone one of warning. Raphael was far too acquainted with that sound.

“It’s as I said.” Raphael replied evenly. “We’ve completely lost visibility of the Winchesters and Castiel.”

“Have you retrieved the items I asked and destroyed them yet?” Michael ever so slightly paced, shifting from one end of his office to the next with a growing look of frustration.

“We have not had much success in negotiations with Sedna. It seems she is unwilling to return them to us.”

“They were left there by mistake.”

“That is not the understanding Sedna or Anguta has, and they will not grant us access into the Adlivun.” Raphael clarified, stoic.

Minutes of silence stretched on before the eldest spoke again. “We can’t afford to wait around any longer.” Michael mused, almost inaudibly. Raphael approached his elder brother, a hand gently resting upon his shoulder. “Jophiel and Lucifer…defied me, betrayed me. I don’t want this.” He exhaled slowly, removing Raphael’s hand from his shoulder. “But this is what needs to be done. This is what’s right.”

“You have my support, Michael. And the support of many others. They see what a monster Jophiel has become. She needs to be stopped.”

“With Lucifer free as well, I can no longer wait for Dean Winchester’s willing consideration. Put the order out for Castiel’s immediate capture and execution. Then, get Zachariah to fetch the girl and prepare my vessel. By any means necessary.”

“Jophiel has gained tremendous power.” Raphael cautioned. “The Marked may be of benefit to you—"

“That power is irrelevant if her vessel can hardly contain it. Find a way to reunite Emma Winchester with her brothers. Once in our capture, we can use the twins to coerce Dean’s consent. Then, kill her. Under no circumstances can we let either Marked continue living.”

“But their power—”

“—There are too many factors at risk to chance it. I am more than powerful enough to put an end to our sister’s nonsense. Have Castiel killed, use the girl as bait, then kill her.”

“Yes sir.” Raphael nodded once, taking his instructions with him as he exited the room.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Just so I’m clear,” Emma rubbed her eyes exasperatingly. “You’re telling me Castiel and I have some sort of history, and the memories of that have all been stashed away in some Land of the Dead?”

“Precisely.” Balthazar answered with a little shrug. “There’s no information about people with marks like yours. But I do know that when Castiel’s memories were taken, it was about that exact marking.”

“The furthest my memory goes…” Cas continued with that same puzzled look frozen on his face. “Is meeting you for the first time outside of a white door marked with a blue ‘X’.”

“That is my first memory as well, but we’ve had history long, long before that. I’m actually hurt that you don’t remember the good times of the 1300s. You see we found this whore in Babylon—”

“Balthazar.”

“You’re a right stick in the mud nowadays, Cassie.” Balthazar muttered. “It’s not until recently that I discovered an entire chunk of our existence had been completely eliminated from the memories of nearly every angel.”

“And how exactly did you manage to come across your memories?” Emma asked, warming her fingers around the mug at the diner they’d ended up in. The restaurant was practically empty at this hour, daylight peering in through the windows. The breakfast crowd would surely be in soon.

“I took precautions should such an event occur. It was only a matter of time before an angelic war broke out. And so, I hid my memories elsewhere.”

“So how do you know where the rest of them are?”

Balthazar flashed a wicked grin. “Because I put them there, of course. I wanted to assure my value to any party should things take a turn.”

“What makes you think that the vials contain memories pertaining to both of us?” Emma continued speculatively.

“Those marks aren’t anything ordinary. I may have also had a gander at those memories before I stashed them away. Hope you don’t mind.” Balthazar leaned back in his seat some, looking anything but apologetic. “There may have been a few other oddities as well.”

“If you looked at them,” Cas practically scowled. “Why not just tell us what you saw?”

“They weren’t my memories to look at, Cassie. I’m fortunate to have even gotten a gander before I was booted.” Balthazar paused briefly to take a sip from his mug of tea. “I believe there were others with your marking. And I believe it provides you with great power.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Why else have the memories stolen? With all our intensive knowledge, why is this something we know absolutely nothing about?”

“Perhaps it’s demonic in nature.” Castiel surmised.

“Moreover, if you bothered to come all this way to tell us about it, why did you hide everything in the Land of the Dead?”

Balthazar’s expression became far more serious, setting the mug back down on the table. “I can hardly perform my most dastardly disappearing act without some consequences. It was less left there and more so…left behind.”

“So, you lost them.” Emma glowered.

“They can be retrieved,” Balthazar replied with an indifferent shrug. “When a human dies, there are some with the will to refuse passing over. In the very first moments of unconsciousness, when the brain begins to die and the soul departs from the body, the Reapers will visit to help escort the soul to the afterlife. Some refuse, clinging to ‘unfinished business’ and turn to ghosts. Others are chauffeured to Heaven or Hell. Vampires, skinwalkers, and the like end up in Purgatory.”

“How many god damn afterlives are there?”

“Five.” Castiel answered this time, worry creasing over his face. “The Land of the Dead is for lost souls. Its true name is Adlivun, but that has been lost to time. Humans who don’t have unfinished business, but refuse to accept an afterlife, accept death, are taken to Adlivun. It is…an abysmal plain resembling your deserts, created by Death. The land is guarded by Sedna, daughter of Anguta, the ferryman of death. Souls spend an earth year within Adlivun before given one last choice to pass along. But by then…” Cas paused forlornly. “Most have succumbed to the nothingness and fade to ash.”

“What’s so significant about these memories anyway?” Emma cleared her throat, burying the tension that’d crept up along her neck. “They’re gone now. Why does it matter?”

“It may be the key to unlocking hidden potential that could put an end to all of this Apocalyptic nonsense. I also firmly believe something of yours my dear may be there besides old memoirs.” Balthazar clarified. “You see, I’ve done a bit of time traveling. Castiel, do you recall what occurred in 1346?”

“The Black Death.” Cas answered with no hesitation. “Killed over 60% of Europe’s population up to 1353.”

“Mm.” Balthazar finished his tea and gently nudged the mug aside, leaning over the table with his hands folded together. “A great number of those that died were the youth, and oddly enough, bore marks exactly like yours. I continued further through time, and numbers of ones with marks diminished greatly. After the 1700s, they disappeared entirely. Shortly after your memories were taken.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like ‘great power’ if they all died off.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” Balthazar replied thoughtfully. “And yet here you both are. I believe that getting those memories back may be critical to understanding the depth of your capabilities. Perhaps it’s the key to understanding just why there are no others like you.”

“That we know of.” Emma remarked.

“No, love. There’s no others. Which is what’s making you such a hot ticket item for Heaven and Hell. The sooner we get those memories back, the better.”

“What of mine did you mean might be there?”

“Can’t say for sure, love. Guess you’ll need to see for yourself.”

“You’re saying you need to kill me.” Emma replied flatly. “Why in the hell would I ever agree to that?”

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t give a damn one way or the other.” Balthazar slid out of his seat, grabbing his jacket and draping it over his arm. “What you elect to do is up to either of you. I did my part and gave you all the information you need. I, on the other hand, am officially staying out of all this nonsense. Truthfully, I hope you all kill each other. But I owed Cassie a favor and now that favor’s repaid.”

“Balthazar,” Cas leapt from his seat and firmly grabbed his friend’s bicep. “You’re just going to walk away? Let Heaven descend into chaos? If Jophiel secures Emma as her vessel, there won’t be any place you can hide where she won’t find you.”

“And should that time come,” Balthazar wrenched his arm free. “I will give strong consideration to realigning my allegiances. Ta-Ta.”

“Balthazar!”

The angel vanished from the diner in the blink of an eye, and Castiel furiously clenched his fingers into tight fists. Emma slid out of the booth after him. “Your friend’s an asshole.”

“He can be quite cowardly at times.” Castiel agreed, watching as Emma tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and they started for the door. “We’ll just have to come up with a plan of our own.”

“Will you just take me back to Dean now?” Emma sighed, leading Castiel out.

The angel finally seemed to give it serious consideration. “Perhaps enlisting Sam and Dean’s help would be—”

“—Woah hold up. Did you say Sam?” Emma interrupted, a hand hovering over Cas’ chest to stop him but careful not to touch. “Like, my brother Sam?”

“The abomination, yes.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Sam is Lucifer’s vessel. He’s been feasting on demon blood and stopped Lilith by—”

“Stop. Stop, stop.” Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “Castiel. Look. I get there’s something weird going on between us. I get that we might have some kind of history. But I need to see my brothers. Don’t you think it’d be better if we all came up with a plan together?”

“With this new information coming to light, and our…” Cas glanced down at the inches of distance between their hands, the hum of their marks, silver glow gently illuminating around their fingers like they were begging to be reconnected. “…circumstances… I believe you might be right.” Cas paused again, fingers clenching together again. “I am sorry…for being so forceful.”

“I’m sure I can find a way to forgive you.” Emma replied carefully. She wasn’t prepared to wholly give her trust over to the angel, but Castiel seemed to have good intentions overall. The longer she spent next to him, the more at ease she became. At first, she attributed it to the presence of an angel, but Balthazar’s entire visit set her back against the edge of distrust, hunter instincts screaming that something wasn’t right about the situation. She didn’t get that from Castiel, and she found it best to trust those instincts. “Take me back to Bobby’s. If Sam and Dean aren’t there, I’m sure they would be soon. I need to have a long, long conversation with them.”

“This should be quicker,” Cas closed the distance between the two of them, raising his right hand, index and middle finger extended only. “Close your eyes and—”

Castiel froze suddenly, a ghost of confusion creasing over his face. It vanished a split second later, instead blossoming with pain and clutching onto the front of Emma’s shirt as he lost his balance. A retracted squelch sent Cas stumbling forward, his feet collapsing from under him as Emma struggled to keep him upright. “Cas? CAS?! What—?”

The culprit became abundantly obvious, the figure standing behind Castiel wielding a blood-soaked blade and a smug smile on his face as he withdrew a white handkerchief from his pocket to clean it off with. Emma cautiously laid Cas down, the angel rasping for breath and fighting to see just who had attacked him. She helped him sit up incrementally but Cas could hardly make it to a seated position without groaning in pain, blood spilling through his white shirt from a wound just shy of his heart.

“Z-Zachariah…” Cas spat, albeit weak, but lethal. “How did you—?”

“I am sorry about this Castiel. You were a wonderful soldier, and I mean that sincerely. I hadn’t intended on dragging this out but you moved at the last second.” Zachariah strode forward, all professional business suit and balding head, grasping the front of Cas’ shirt and hauling him off the ground again. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the time to talk.”

“Zachariah, please—”

Emma lurched off the ground, stilling Zachariah’s blade-wielding hand before it could plunge into Castiel’s face. Her arm trembled with the strength it took to hold him, but it held nonetheless. Zachariah appeared equally surprised, but his opportunity to counterstrike diminished as Cas used his remaining strength to snap the arm gripping his shirt in half. Zachariah let out a sharp yelp of pain and Cas hit the snowy, wet gravel hard, no attempt to stand following. Emma stopped, staring at her hands that began to emit that silver light, but didn’t have more than a second to dwell on it as Zachariah returned, throwing all of his weight and strength into her and sending them crashing to the ground. Hand already healed, the angel tried using his power instead, a ball of glowing white light in her face, left hand grappling to hold it back while her right scrambled at her side for something to use.

She closed two fingers securely around a large rock, tugging it into her palm and swinging it fiercely into Zachariah’s head. The angel fell to her side and she rolled out of the way to Castiel, managing to give him a once-over before Zachariah hauled her back to her feet, blade at her throat and fingers knotted into her hair. Blood dribbled down the side of his head, the wound healing before her eyes, and the feigned pleasantry in his face upon first arrival had evaporated. Instead he scowled, his breath hissing between his teeth.

“You are very…very blessed we still have use for you.”

“That’s funny,” Emma grunted, fighting the hold he had with his left hand fisted in her hair. “I’m not feeling very blessed right now. Is there a prayer I can use for that?”

“Be silent.” The angel ordered, digging the blade harder into her throat to draw a threatening trail of blood. His fingers gripped her hair tighter, ripping strands out between his fingers. “You are an abomination. A mistake. The only reason you’re still allowed to breathe is because you’re needed in a bigger plan. Should I have had my way, I would kill you right this minute.”

Emma grabbed at Zachariah’s wrist with both her light-imbued hands, prying at the bone, feeling the strain as the angel’s superior power fought to keep the blade still. Whatever stores of strength she tapped into earlier seemed to be depleting, and brute strength wouldn’t free her from his hold. Zachariah dug the blade in harder the more she struggled, blood starting to ooze down her neck and coat the inside of her shirt. She applied pressure harder to his wrists with no luck, swinging out a leg, but the superior angel held her in a vice-like grip.

As Emma’s hands sloped to her sides instead, feeling around the inside of Castiel’s coat pocket that she still wore, brushing against an all too familiar silver hilt. She closed her fingers around it and ran through a strategy as quickly as she possibly could. In one swift motion she wrenched the angel blade free from the pocket and straight into Zachariah’s braced wielding arm. The angel shrieked once again, dropping his blade, but a fist still in her hair. Emma grabbed just above his hand and sliced off her blonde locks, freeing herself while the stunned, injured angel held her knee length hair. She rushed the angel and was knocked off her feet for her efforts by an invisible force, tumbling into the dirt and gathering herself in time to see Zachariah going for Cas once again.

Emma started to her feet again, blade in hand, only to be slammed back down face-first into the gravel by seemingly nothing but air. “Stay DOWN!” Zachariah barked, grabbing Cas by the front of his blood-soaked shirt and hauling him off the ground.

The angel’s eyes barely opened, head turning her direction, blood on his lips. “Emma…”

Time seemed to slow then as she pushed past the crushing invisible barrier at her back, the strength it took to fight against it sending violent tremors down her muscles. Each ligament screamed in protest, the Winchester raising to her feet like a newborn fawn and witnessing Zachariah’s hand arch upwards to drive into Castiel’s heart. Despite the pressure, despite the force of the world bearing down on her body, she managed to reach Zachariah just before he could drive the weapon downwards and kill the angel. Her arm raised and she stabbed blindly, catching him in his arm and driving a screech out of him. She withdrew the blade and jammed it forward again, this time the blind fury finding its mark in Zachariah’s chest. The angel staggered back, dropping Castiel and struggling to pull the weapon from his abdomen. But a tell-all white-blue light encased him, pouring out his eye sockets, his mouth, until the entire surrounding area exploded in a blinding flash.

When she dared to lower her arm, Cas laid motionless on the gravel by her feet, and nothing remained of Zachariah except for fluttering pieces of black ash. Emma dropped back to the angel’s side and tore off a portion of her shirt, pressing it against the profusely bleeding wound. “Hey, hey, hey. Cas. You stay with me, alright?”

Castiel’s eyes took nearly fifteen long seconds to roll over to her face, eyelids half-parted. “You…need to go…before more come.”

“Oh, I see, you get to kidnap me and now you’re just going to bail on out and leave me in Nowheresville? Fat chance, holy man. You don’t get to quit.”

If Cas had a retort, it died before he had a chance to fully form a single syllable. The angel’s eyes slipped shut and he fell entirely slack, head lolling to the side. Emma muttered a litany of curses under her breath, taking off the damn coat he’d given her earlier and wrapping him up back in it. Asshole was going to be a pain to get anywhere, but she had to try something. Proximity helped heal her injuries, maybe she could repay in kind. Buttoning the trenchcoat some so the blood wasn’t on display for the entire world to see, Emma hauled Cas upright, left arm slung over her shoulder. They needed a car.

The parking lot for the diner was almost entirely empty, but there were a few stragglers sitting inside. How they hadn’t notice the events happening outside wasn’t something she felt like addressing right now anyways. Dragging Cas across the lot, she set him down carefully to the passenger side of the first available car, then reached into her hair for a bobby pin. She stood in front of the door to pick the lock, only then taking in the sight of all her missing hair. Her hair partially fell at shoulder length now, slightly above at some corners due to the jagged angle at which she’d swiped the blade. She shook her thoughts clear and unlocked the car, disabling the alarm first and foremost. Wiring a car was not simple task, but she’d been shown more than enough times by Bobby how it needed to be done to bring the pickup roaring to life.

Before anyone else had a chance to see, she grabbed up the angel and dragged him into the truck, sitting him upright in the passenger seat before climbing into her own spot. With the car alive and at least a half-tank of gas, Emma immediately pulled out of the lot and peeled off down the road like a bat out of hell. Emma took the time to at least get out of the town before she brought her attention back to the paling angel. He had some color back in his cheekbones, but not enough that she could worry less. Grabbing his arm, she gently dragged him over so his head rested on her thigh, holding the steering wheel with her left hand and her right over his injury.

Ignoring the disgusting, sticky warmth of blood on her palm, she pressed her hand harder against it, trying to concentrate on the road and helping this damn stubborn stupid idiot angel at the same time. Her fingers still emitted traces of silver, so some power had to still be flowing. No matter what it was, it healed her injuries, so why shouldn’t it work for Castiel too?

“C’mon. C’mon.” Emma muttered through tightly gritted teeth. “It worked last time. Work now.”

In the minutes that passed with keeping her eyes on the road and pressing into Castiel’s wound, the power actually had been working. Knitting together the injury slowly but surely, Emma drew her hand back, the wound almost completely closed. From what she could see, the skin where the blade protruded out of appeared pink and still lightly irritated, spots of blood still stuck to his bare skin, but no fresh traces could be seen. She sighed with relief, wiping the blood off on his shirt (It’s already gotta be washed), and pressed the back of her hand to Cas’ forehead. He felt warm…but not quite as warm as his feathers were earlier that day. Did that matter? She didn’t know what to look for to check on him, and forced herself to rationalize that if he didn’t explode into light like the other one, then he should be alright after some rest.

She left Cas’ forehead to retrieve her phone from her pocket, wiggling it back and forth until it freed from her jeans and flipped the top open. She called the only number she had on her speed dial, receiver to her ear and left hand still on the wheel. She couldn’t bring herself to move her right hand away from Cas just yet.

“Singer.” Bobby answered on the fifth ring, just as gruff and irritable as always.

“Bobby. It’s Emma.”

The ten seconds of silence were probably the most painful moments of her life as her adoptive father struggled to say something. Finally, his unsure reply came. “Emma?”

Her throat tightened, but she reaffirmed her grip on the steering wheel. Definitely not the time for tears. “Yeah it’s me. I’m on my way back to you and I have so much to explain, I know. Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I been god-damn worried sick about you! Where the hell are you?!”

“I’ll explain everything when I get there. I’ve got a hell of a drive ahead of me, so it’ll be plenty of time for you to think of a way to explain why the hell you didn’t tell me about Dad.”

The silence on the other end was practically deafening. “…Emma, I – “

“—I’m sure you had your reasons, and I’m willing to hear you out.” She interrupted, though she didn’t dare hurdle attitude or criticism his way. Bobby took care of her. She owed him her understanding. “But I didn’t call to just talk to you. My brothers are there, aren’t they?”

Another long pause. “…Yeah.”

“In the house right now?”

“Yep.”

“Put me on speaker.”

A few moments of ruffling while Bobby tried to figure out the best way to do that, and once he returned, his voice sounded a bit distant, but it was clear enough that she could hear. “You’re on, kid.”

Tension and an unwelcome twinge of pain (or maybe fear?) tightened in her chest as she gripped the phone tighter between her ear and shoulder, right hand still pressed firmly to Castiel's forehead. Eight long years from hearing Dean’s voice, six for hearing or even feeling Sam. And neither of them could muster the strength to explain themselves. They were there – she could make out the sounds of more than Bobby’s deep breathing. Some rustling noises here and there as they adjusted their position on the couch. She tried to imagine what they looked like now, and even that was difficult.

She snapped. “One of you needs to say something to me. Right now. Anything. Please.”

“Emma, it ain’t—” Bobby’s voice started again.

Once again, she cut him off. “—No. Don’t. I want to hear it from one of them. If they’ve got the balls to cut me off for nearly a decade, they can get it together to say something to me now.”

The silence only lengthened, and Emma’s thumb teetered on the edge of just ending the call and whipping the phone out the window. They couldn’t explain themselves. They didn’t have an explanation for dropping out of her life. Regardless of Bobby’s influence on that decision, both her brothers had elected to leave. Bobby never forced them out. And they never tried to come, rules be damned. Since when did rules matter to Dean anyways?

“One of you idjits need to speak up. This is gettin’ ridiculous.”

“… … … W…” A pause. “…We just wanted to keep you safe. It’s all I know how to do, Em.”

“Screw you, Dean.” Her throat pinched off toward the end, nearly clipping off his name with a squeak as hysteria threatened to settle in. Just hearing his voice again made her skin rise with bumps, a cold, longing, pained shiver twisted into the base of her spine. He sounded almost like John now. “For someone always preaching the damn importance of family, you sure as hell didn’t hold back from dropping me out.”

“We didn’t drop you out,” That must’ve been Sam now, even his voice far deeper than she recalled it being before. “We all agreed that it was best for you to stay out. You were safer that way.”

“You can go to hell too, Sam. Since when do you participate in making decisions on my behalf?”

“Since things got so dangerous we couldn’t think about losing you again.”

“IT’S NOT UP TO YOU TO DECIDE THINGS FOR ME!” There was the hysteria breaching despite every attempt to beat it back down into submission. She forced herself to keep her grip firm on the steering wheel or else she risked ramming herself and someone else off the road. She lowered her tone, not wanting to disturb Cas, but acid in every word. “We were a family. I needed my brothers. How is this any better?!”

“We didn’t know this was going to blow back on you. We thought if we left you in the dark—” Sam continued to try and explain.

“—That what?! That being in the dark would mean I’d be less prepared for what’s to come? I’m a god damn Winchester. We have never not had something on our ass since the day we were born. All you two did was leave me high and dry.”

“We’re sorry, alright?” Dean now, sounding closer to the phone than he had before. “We’re…fuck, Emmy. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care that you’re sorry. First thing I’m doing when I get to that junkyard is punching both of you in the face.”

“How did you know we were here?” Sam interjected, reminding Emma of the situation at hand.

“Castiel spilled the beans after he abducted me from the junkyard. About you and Dean, about dad, and I’m sure these are going to be great stories. I especially loved hearing from some rogue angel that my brothers and father died. So, I can’t wait to hear the resurrection explanation.”

Dean sighed. “It’s a lot we gotta fill you in on. Where are you? Where’s Cas now?”

“He’s with me. We got tracked down by some angels in Montana and he got hurt pretty bad. He’s doing alright though, should pull-through. But he’s not conscious right now.”

“What about you? Are you hurt?” Sam demanded.

“I’m fine.” She answered dismissively, the cut in her neck appeared to have healed. “I stole a truck, we’re making our way back to Sioux Falls now.”

“You won’t make it across the border with a stolen car, Em. You should find a halfway point, ditch the car, and crash for the night. Sammy and I can meet you by nighttime. When’s the last time you even slept?”

“Did you miss the part about the kidnapping and angel fight?”

“Cas is trustworthy. If he pulled you out of here, it was for a good reason. Wherever you guys end up for the night we know he’ll keep you safe.”

“I don’t think either of you realize what the hell we’re dealing with here.” Emma gritted out. “Apparently Jophiel’s been gathering some power over the last few months or years or days or something. And—” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll ditch the car tonight. It's like a twelve hour drive. I'll drive six, you drive six, I'll text you when we've stopped at a halfway motel.”

“You should just pullover at the first place if you haven’t slept in a hot minute.” Dean advised, taking on that oh-so-familiar fatherly tone. Emma might’ve found it soothing once upon a time.

“I don’t really give a damn what you think I should do. I’m agreeing to meet you halfway. That’s the best either of you are getting out of me.”

“Em—”

“—Can’t wait to hear your excuses too, Sam.” Emma bit out. “Completely shutting me out of your head and all. When this is all over, I want the both of you to get lost, you got me?”

“Hold on a –”

Emma snapped the phone shut and tossed it violently to the floor of the passenger side. There would certainly be a callback, but she felt no obligation to answer any more of their demands. It took nearly a minute for her to realize Cas staring, half-lidded but intently up at her face.

She groaned. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Do you really want them to go?” Cas asked, avoiding the question.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll really know until I see them again.”

“Then why did you say you want them gone?”

“Because I’m angry, Cas.” Emma retorted with a snap. “And sometimes we do dumb shit when we’re mad.”

“Is that why you saved me? Because you were mad at me?”

“What? No.” She shook her head. “Look I think you handled this whole situation terribly. I think not bringing me to Sam and Dean when we had the chance was a really dumb decision. I think talking to Balthazar was a dumb decision. But I’m not…I am mad at you, but you’ve been looking out for me. Least I can do is look out for you too.”

Cas remained quiet for another moment or so before he spoke up again. “Do you trust me?”

“I…don’t know. I guess maybe I do. I don’t know why I do. I shouldn’t. My instincts tell me I shouldn’t trust you at all. But…something else is telling me I already do.”

She could tell just by his hardened expression he was thinking through his next words carefully. “I believe I know how we may be able to retrieve what’s been lost in Adlivun. It would be indescribably dangerous. But may give us a strong advantage in this war.”

Emma’s eyes remained trained on the road. She knew where this conversation was headed already. Questioning her trust, whether or not she was mad at him. “You want to kill me.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last 10 hours were an absolute blur. One moment he and Sam were wrist deep in books in Bobby’s kitchen, pouring over everything that they knew about Apocalypses, angels, anything that could help them locate their missing sister. Bobby, meanwhile, researched a tracking spell that they could use, but preparation took quite some time, and the old hunter practically trembled with exhaustion and concern. Dean could tell just by looking at him how attached he’d become to Emma over the years. It was the father she deserved to have, and it served as justification in Dean’s mind for their actions. Even if he didn’t fully believe in them anymore. After nearly ten hours buried in books he excused himself for a shower to refresh and recharge. Sam waved him off, and Bobby remained slumped over in his armchair, cellphone in hand, mouth open with deep-throated snores.

Dean slowly walked up the creaky wooden stairs, Emma’s bedroom door slightly ajar and off to the left at the top of the staircase. He couldn’t bring himself to go in at first, lingering in the entryway with his fingers curling and uncurling against his palm. With a slow hand he grasped the doorknob and pushed it open the rest of the way. His right hand skimmed the wall blindly for the switch, flicking it on and taking in the bedroom one corner to the next. It looked like the youngest Winchester hadn’t ever finished moving in. She’d been living here for eight long years, yet there were no photographs or pictures on her dresser. A small bookshelf sat to the left of the bed near the headboard, three shelves crammed to the brim with books (and a few stacked-on top as well). The garbage can on the right side of the bed overflowed with crushed beer cans, but the north and south walls were blank. No posters. No pictures. No decorations. Just bare tan-colored walls (Christ, Emmy, not even any color?).

On the eastern most wall her windowsill appeared just as barren until Dean dared to step a little bit closer. Lying flat across the white-painted sill was an old looking necklace, silver chain semi-rusted and a blue lily at the end. Dean recognized it immediately as the one he’d given her for her fifth birthday. She wore it around for years until it’d gotten torn off in a confrontation with Dad and thrown aside. Dean hadn’t seen it after that, he assumed she’d gotten rid of it. Picking the necklace up, he studied the ridiculous thing further. He’d lifted it from a super-store. It had been sitting with a bunch of other jewelry out on display and the twins’ birthday was coming up. He’d already gotten Sam a few things but struggled to find something for Em. When she plucked it up with delight, Dean decided she would have it.

Swallowing hard, Dean returned the necklace to the windowsill and made his way over to her closet. The sliding door opened at the far right and pushed over the other door at the left, revealing an array of very basic clothing. Jeans, plaid button-downs, a jacket, the typical everyday wear. But to the far left were a few beautiful looking dresses, though he found it hard to imagine Emmy wore anything like that. She’s twenty-four now Dean reminded himself in a chastising tone. You don’t know shit about her anymore. He closed the closet door with more force than intended, the rattling SLAM! causing something inside to crash to the ground. He pried the door open again, a backpack at his feet. A brief glimmer of consideration not to go through his sister’s things came and went in a matter of seconds, and he hoisted the backpack up off the floor and deposited it on the bed.

Dean unzipped the first front-most pouch, finding nothing of any significance. A pair of headphones, energy bars, clothes, gun, nothing that wasn’t customary to a typical bug-out bag. He zipped it closed and opened the main pouch, more clothes, a hunting knife in a sheath. Dean sighed to himself. She was prepared to go at any given moment with all this stuff crammed inside. Like she was just waiting for the day Sam and Dean came back and they could live on the lamb again. But at least they’d be together. He prepared to zip the bag back up and return it to the closet when a noise like shifting pebbles caught his attention. He searched the inner pouch but came across nothing, then immediately went to the sides, unzipping one of the smaller pocket pouches. Reaching in, Dean withdrew an all-too-familiar orange looking pill bottle. Some no-name was listed on the bottle, but the half-full prescription set Dean on edge.

Xanax.

Dean knew the nightmares had been bad but…he hadn’t thought they’d be this level of bad. Then again, he hadn’t taken a lot into consideration when Dad called and begged for his help. He just left. Assumed Sammy would’ve stayed behind and helped keep their sister together. It had been a blind hope. He left that responsibility to someone who just wanted to be free of his non-stop, monster-hunting lifestyle. He didn’t need to look in the nightstand drawer to know what he’d find there as well. Stuffing the pill bottle back inside the bag, he returned everything to the closet and quickly left the bedroom, finding Sam in the kitchen once again. He avoided his brother’s confused gaze and immediately grabbed the nearest liquor bottle from the shelf, whole glass to his lips and taking three long gulps. It’s all your fault. You did this to her. You left her behind. You didn’t help her. Your fault, your fault, your fault—

“Dean?”

Sam’s concerned voice penetrated through the storm of accusations and failure. Dean set the bottle aside and wiped his mouth with a distorted swipe of his hand. “She was taking Xanax.”

“Em was?” Sam considered for a moment, up out of his chair but hand leaning against it. “I mean, after Azazel, she kept having nightmares.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Dean demanded, pointing an accusing finger in Sam’s face. “I left her with you. You were supposed to fill the big brother role.”

“You ditched us, Dean!” Sam snapped back immediately. “No good phone number, no way to reach you, nothing! I was sixteen years old and angry as hell. I wanted to get as far away from memories of you and Dad as possible. And you left with nothing more than ‘be good’ written on a god damn napkin.”

“I was tryin’ to protect you!” Dean retorted, desperate to find someone else to blame for his wrongdoings.

“You already did that, don’t pretend like this was some huge sacrifice! You left because you’re a selfish asshole who can’t sit still! Dad having backup was more important to you than Em and me!”

Dean recoiled back a step or two. Sam noticed immediately and his shoulders fell. “Dean, I—”

“Nothing in this world is more important to me than you two. Not even Dad. I thought if I went with him I…we’d never have to worry about him showing up to hurt you again. I never wanted to go back to him, Sammy. Not ever. But Dad was hurtin’ too, and you guys were safe. You were out of it.”

“I know.” Sam replied evenly. “And it worked…for awhile. But Em’s a lot more like you than she is like me. She couldn’t just sit around here. And once you were gone, the guilt of all of us being apart just ate her up alive. She had nightmares almost every night. If she found something to help her get through that, I’m glad she got her hands on some Xanax. She’s…not a little kid anymore, Dean. She made decisions for herself, just like I did.”

“Can you blame me?” Dean muttered. “Last time I saw her, she was asleep in bed, clinging to your side. I…didn’t think you guys needed me anymore.”

“We don’t have to be little kids to still need you, Dean. You’re an idiot if you think so.”

“We’ve gotta find her, man.” Dean wiped at his face before the frustrated tears could fall. “I can’t let nothing but empty beer cans and Xanax be my last memory of her.”

“They won’t be.” Sam assured him. He closed the distance between them and wrapped Dean up in his arms, feeling his brother’s hands fist into his shirt as he clenched tight for just a moment. Dean needed the reassurance.

Bobby’s ringing phone interrupted the brother’s embrace, and after they spoke with their irate sister for the first time in eight years, Sam and Dean began to throw bags together to get out the door. Bobby stood to the side and watched as Sam tossed his backpack to Dean, Dean leaving it by the door and checking the ammunition bag to make sure everything was accounted for before they left.

“You’re bringing her back here…right?” Bobby finally asked as Sam grabbed the rest of their things and brought them to the door.

“With the angels constantly coming down, and—” Sam sighed, shoulders falling ever so slightly. “We don’t know. Coming back here would probably be the best decision until we come up with another plan.”

“Good.” Bobby nodded, adjusting his hat, trying his best to keep any appearance of stress of his face. “Good.”

Dean finished cramming the last of the bags into the trunk of the Impala and they went to their respective seats, Sam needing to duck and nearly crouch just to get into the passenger side. Dean waved haphazardly at Bobby lingering in the doorway, promising himself that they would work things out when they got back.

As Dean pulled out of the parking lot, he could feel in the air as Sam failed to resist asking the question they were both thinking. “What are we going to do if she doesn’t want to see us?”

“She needs our help, Sammy.” Dean replied with ease, the answer readily available on his tongue. “It doesn’t matter what she wants.”

“I think that was kind of the problem that got us into this mess.”

“Just shut up and put in my CD.”


	6. Chapter 6

At just about nightfall, they were fortunate enough to find a road-sign for a nearby exit that’d take them to a small town with a motel. The drive had been mostly silent, though Emma could practically feel the concern Castiel wanted to voice every time she lightly drifted from the lane. In truth, her head was spinning with exhaustion. She’d gone longer days without sleeping before, but with the ordeal of the last twenty-something hours, all she wanted to do was flop into bed and sleep straight through the next week. Unfortunately, it occurred to her that this night wasn’t about to get any shorter. Turning the lights down and making sure there were no other cars around, Emma carefully guided the car off the road and onto the side, wheels angled toward the right. She switched the car off, leaving the keys in the ignition.

“Why are we stopping here?” Castiel frowned, making no attempt to follow.

Emma gestured to the nearby exit ramp about a mile along the highway. “We’re going to head into town and chill at the motel until Sam and Dean get here. Since I stole this car, I can’t exactly park it there.”

“I cannot fly us to the motel in my condition.”

“I know, we’re gonna walk.”

Castiel cocked his head slightly, but exited the car without further protest or questioning. He followed suit, approaching the rear of the pickup and bracing his hands against the back as she had. Emma gestured to the clearing with a nod of her head, and once the angel understood the intent, together they managed to easily move the car into the collection of trees. She could sense that most of the weight moved due to Cas’ strength, even weakened, but she assisted regardless and they succeeded in shielding the vehicle between numerous trees. They walked out of the clearing together and as their feet touched road again, Emma turned to make sure the car couldn’t easily be seen from this vantage point. At least if the officers did find the car, it wouldn’t be until daybreak. By then, they’d hopefully be gone. If Dean left Bobby’s around the time of their call, her brothers should be showing up within the hour.

With a little effort, she wrapped the angel’s left arm around her shoulder and secured her right arm around his waist, supporting him upright as best as possible. Castiel was taller by a few inches or so, but with some encouragement he came to the realization that she could manage his weight. Even though he accepted it, he seemed reluctant to give too much of it over. She could hear it in between his huffs of irritability as they walked into town.

“I didn’t intend on being a burden to you.”

Emma considered for a moment everything that’d occurred with Castiel, and although he’d dragged her a few hundred miles away from home, the angel’s intentions were unlike any others that she was accustomed to. Not even Jophiel gave such consideration to certain kindnesses. Perhaps that was entirely due to her ulterior motives. “You’re not a burden. An incredible pain in the ass, maybe. But not a burden. I can’t exactly give you a hard time. Not after you came to my rescue…I guess twice now.”

“Your well-being is of great importance.” Castiel elaborated, adjusting his weight ever so slightly to his left so she took on more. “And you rescued me as well.”

“To you or to this divine plan? Because I have my own twits to deal with. I’m still not interested in this angel war.” They began their way up the exit ramp and into the small town.

Castiel shrugged lightly. “Your safety is important to me. And I can’t explain why.”

Her steps hesitated a beat, the heft of his words settling heavier on her shoulders than the weight of his body. But she continued on without letting another moment pass. “You think this…bond or whatever has anything to do with that feeling?”

“I don’t have emotions like you. Not…innately. We were not created that way. I don’t feel sadness or anger, I don’t feel happiness or joy.” Castiel paused, wincing slightly.

Emma stopped walking. “You okay? Do you need a break?”

“No. I can continue.” Still, she gave him a moment to adjust himself as needed before they continued walking, closing the gap between the exit ramp and the shops across the street. “But when I interact with you, or when I am near you, I feel those things. I feel them when I am around Sam and Dean as well. But everything in connection with you is…powerful. The night Azazel harmed you, I –” Castiel hesitated, collecting the malice behind his voice and swallowing it down until calm returned. “—I felt your pain. Not to the extent of what you endured, but I knew you were in danger. I have never experienced a fury like that before.”

“And you really don’t know what these marks are?”

“I would have no reason to keep that information to myself. Had I known Uriel would react so violently, I would have never…” The angel trailed off, and a small twinge of guilt pitted in Emma’s chest.

“I’m sorry about him. Were you…close?”

“We are all brothers and sisters.”

“Well…I mean I get that, but do you spend a lot of time with him?”

“He was in my garrison, before I was demoted.”

“Why were you demoted?”

“For helping you.” There was no sense of spite in his voice or regret. Instead he stated it like it was merely a matter of fact and not a matter of his life up until this point. The guilt only continued to build in her chest. Giving Castiel a bit more of her patience and understanding would do them both some good. The nearest motel sat just at the end of the road, a flickering sign and unwelcoming setup all too familiar. It’d been a long time since she’d had one of these setups.

“Have you given further consideration—?”

“I don’t know.” Emma interrupted again. “How do you know we can trust Balthazar after he set us up like that? That doesn’t exactly make me motivated to try this out.”

“I am not entirely certain that this was a set up. It’s not like Balthazar to choose sides. He would have nothing to gain from lying about it. And I have known him to always repay debts.”

“How big was this debt?”

“I rescued him from execution.”

Emma didn’t respond for a short while, concentrating on the road and the oncoming motel. Cas may have trusted Balthazar, but everything about what happened at the diner screamed of trap. And allowing Cas to kill her came with its own onslaught of risks, especially with her brothers already on the way. They discussed a tentative plan for most of the drive, but everything that they’d been told rested upon chance and good fortune. She’d die, perhaps be able to convince the Reaper to take her to the Land of the Dead, search for the missing memories, convince the goddess Sedna to give them to her, and then return back to the living and hope her connection with Castiel, an angel she’d known for less than a day, would be enough to revive her.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought we had other options.” Cas added quietly. “I don’t want to cause any more harm to you than what I have already done.”

“I know. I mean, I believe you. Just…let me think, okay?”

The angel fell silent as they approached the motel front desk, and Emma shelled out the bills for the night and grabbed the key from the surly looking clerk. She returned to Cas and brought him down the long walkway to their room at the end, ramming open the door with her hip and guiding Castiel inside. She helped him onto the bed and shut the door, bolting it shut behind her. One queen bed. One bathroom. It would have to do. She sent a quick text off to Dean, letting her know their motel location and room number before she tossed the phone aside.

She gestured for Cas to stand again, helping him back out of his jacket and out of his blood-soaked shirt. “I want to look at the injury.”

“It’s already healed.” Cas replied dismissively, pulling away. “I need to ward this room before we have any unwanted visitors.”

“If it’s already healed and fine, then why are you having issues walking?”

“Angel blades aren’t meant to deliver minor damage. I shouldn’t be alive. Having survived, I can tell that I am recovering strength, but at a very slow rate. Think of it like a poison.”

“Just let me look, okay?”

“It’s fine, Emma.”

“Hey. Humor me.”

“I fail to see what may be humorous about this situation.”

Emma snorted but rolled her eyes a tad. “It’s just a phrase, Cas. Just…stand still while I look, alright?”

When the angel finally lamented and stood, Emma dropped to her knees and examined the fading pink mark carefully. She pulled at the skin a little, stretched the area, applied light pressure to see if there were any other unknown or invisible injuries beneath the surface. But overall it seemed that their bond-thing had done its job, along with whatever internal healing powers Cas had. When she looked up to thank him for playing along, the angel’s eyes were closed, his features more serene than she’d ever seen of him yet. Each corner of his face where the skin had previously pulled taut over his features were now eased, relaxed looking. Gaze shifting down again, she ran a thumb up along the scar, feeling it softly, arguing with herself that she just needed to be certain she hadn’t missed a thing. His vessel’s skin felt like silk beneath her palm, and the further her hand went up, the more the angel seemed to melt into it. Her fingers dipped briefly below his sternum, around the “V” outline of his hips nearly hidden away by work slacks. The man must have been a runner or something as all of his muscles were lean, tone, and slender. Though she heard no protest, Emma followed a path carelessly along his abdomen closer toward his chest, caressing each defined muscle. Cas exhaled deeply, eyes still shut. “Emma”.

She stood gradually, her fingers glowing silver as they connected, and suddenly, she could feel the warmth too.

When her hand got to his chest closest to his collarbone, Castiel’s fingers caught hers and stilled it, but made no attempt to move it off. His eyes opened and the pull of blue held her in place. It didn’t matter if this was a vessel. It didn’t matter because this was Castiel’s face. That same sensation from before returned; the refusal to move from this proximity. Each tender second they stood in the others’ wake only enhanced the desire to fold herself into his embrace. He released her fingers and her hand continued upwards, ghosting over the connecting muscles that led to his broad shoulders, his neck. He’s so warm… Her hand settled at his jaw, sweeping along the stubbly shadow of a full beard, thumb stopping over his lips. She knew this face. It didn’t matter that they’d only truly “just met”. This was the face of the man watching over her. The one that had tried to rescue her from Jophiel even before she was conscious of his presence. The one who’d swooped in and gave her a second chance when her father had abandoned her. Touching Cas like this prodded at something not in her mind, but deep in her heart. His presence pulling at the threads of half-remembered dreams. She yearned to be closer, even though her body tentatively slotted against his; it wasn’t enough. A hesitant left hand raised, coming into her line of sight and hovering around her face but with unsteady, twitching fingertips.

“Emma…” He managed, voice strangled, then stepped away, breaking off all contact, silver fading back to the dimly lit room by poor desk lamp from the 1980’s. She could only just make out the slight flush to his face. Emma’s hands still hovered in the air where she’d been cradling his face. Her cheekbones burned with an indicative fluster she couldn’t see. “It may be wise to refrain from personal contact until we know exactly what this is.”

Her mark throbbed in protest. “I don’t know if that’s entirely possible.” She cleared her throat, shaking off the cobwebs. “Especially since you were having a hard time walking.”

Castiel still kept an arms-length distance between them, looking oh-so-suddenly exposed in just his slacks. He looked to deflect instead. “You should rest. I will keep an eye out for Sam and Dean.”

She wondered briefly if he could see the exhaustion on her face, or merely referred back to her drifting on the road. He’d taken the time to bring it back up now as his leveraging point, but truthfully, she was spent. It still didn’t take away from the desire to launch herself back into the embrace of the angel, to touch every inch of his skin as though she needed the contact just to survive. Regrettably, she glanced at the bathroom behind her and gave a small shrug, only then remembering her lobbed off hair. She grabbed at the ends of the shoulder-length blonde, frowning as she felt the uneven edges from the awkward cut. Her neck, arms, and hands were still coated in blood. No wonder the clerk at the front desk gave her such a look.

“I think I could use a shower instead, honestly.” Emma muttered, mostly to herself.

“Rest would—” Cas stopped almost immediately as he caught her glare, holding his hand in immediate surrender. “I will keep watch.”

“What about you? You didn’t sleep at all in the car.”

“I have no need for sleep.”

Now it was her turn to look confused. “Like at all?”

“No. My grace imbues me with the ability to go without rest, eating, and breathing.”

“So…you can’t sleep?”

“I could…” Cas replied, fidgeting. “But it is not necessary.”

With a nod Emma turned her back to the angel and entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and finally having the briefest glimmer of privacy. Her back fell against the door, knocking her head back slightly with a soft thump. If Cas heard, to his credit, he said nothing. The residual tremors of being in Castiel’s pull still caused her fingertips to twitch, but the silver glow began to fade. She shoved aside the lingering desire to throw herself back at the angel in favor of showering. She made her way over to the tap and turned the knob, the old pipes groaning as they spit out a brown-colored, sludge-like water.

 _Well, there goes that fucking idea_ she grumbled to herself, though left the water running for a bit longer in the hopes that the sludge would clear after a moment or two. It wouldn’t be the first time. The smell, however, was getting to her. The paper-thin walls allowed the sound of car door slamming shut to travel in, distracting from the gross as hell bathwater. Castiel’s footsteps moved to the door, and silence followed for a moment. Then, a few rapid pounding sounds.

“Cas? It’s Dean. Open up!”

 _Damn, that was fast…_ The sound of her brother’s voice sent her heart leaping up into her throat, and her hand stilled around the doorknob that would let her back into the bedroom. She hesitated, and jumped back at the sudden crunch of splintering wood.

“Uhh…”

“Nice, Cas.” Another voice, not quite as deep as Dean’s…Sam? “Next time, gently pull.”

“I…did not realize this had been locked.”

After a moment of silence, Dean’s voice gently ventured, “Is she—?”

“Yes.” Came Cas’ even reply, more crunching sounds following (probably trying to affix the door back into place). “I encouraged her to rest but she insisted on a shower. Though I see now it would have made little difference. We have only been here a few moments longer than you. I will step out for a moment… I hope that you are willing to transport me as well. I have not wholly recovered from our encounter with Zachariah.”

“Of course, dude. But you’ve got some explaining to do too.”

If Castiel had a reply, she couldn’t hear it. His footsteps receded and she could make out the sound of him walking just outside the motel room door and along the sidewalk, hopefully to find himself a shirt not soaked in blood.

Emma wasn’t certain what she hesitated for. Just on the other side were her brothers, longing for them for eight years and suffocating under loneliness and isolation, never fully able to reign in the idea that she had been the one to destroy the family. If she hadn’t been so careless that day, Azazel would’ve never found them, then everything with Dad…with Jophiel… She swallowed away the desire to feel guilt for the angel that used her. She spent several years lamenting her insecurities and frustrations to the only person that appeared to listen, and if Castiel’s insight truly was correct, all of that would come to a head when she came face to face with the archangel again.

On the other side of the door she could sense her twin, like their bond hadn’t been closed off for all these years and instead just awaited the moment that they would reconnect. Sam’s hands braced on either side of the door and she could hear him sigh, trying to imagine what he looked like now, if anything had changed aside from the depth in his voice. All she needed to do was open the door. Let out her frustrations and reconnect with her brothers. The seconds ticked by embarrassingly long.

“Em—” Sam spoke softly, like he was addressing a terrified child. “We really need to get moving back to Bobby’s. I know we’ve got a lot to talk about, and believe me, Dean and I aren’t looking forward to this car ride any more than you are. But we’re here now. We’re gonna make things right again.”

Emma fought to respond, the words knotting up in her throat. She leaned closer to the door, trying to feel Sam again, knowing where his palms were spread on the thin wood frame even without their link to confirm it. She opened her mouth, closed it again, frustrated tears threatening to claw at her eyes.

“Sammy—”

“Just give me a sec.” Sam shushed their brother, mirroring Emma’s hand on the doorknob. “Em…we’re sorry.”

“I don’t care!” Emma barked, though it was not actually her speaking. Had the bathroom not been bombed by the smell of sewage leaking out of the pipes, she may have had her wits about her to notice the sulphur smell entering the room. Sam and Dean probably couldn’t smell it either in this dump. The demon’s hand clamped tightly over her mouth, mimicking her voice so perfectly she cringed at the sound of it. The damn clerk at the front desk slipped in without notice and now held her in a precarious position. She didn’t have to think hard to know what the sharp, pointed object pressing against her spine could be. “I don’t want to see either of you! Leave me alone!”

“Emmy we’re not gonna do that.” Dean interrupted, that commanding, fatherly tone set in place. “If you need a few minutes to shower and stuff we can give you that, but you’re leaving with us and we’re gonna sort this mess out together.”

“Fine,” The demon sneered in her voice, digging the blade in harder when she attempted to make a sound. “Go wait in the car and I’ll come out when I’m good and ready.”

“C’mon Sam. Let’s just let her shower real quick and—” 

“—Something’s up.” Sam interrupted. “Em, open the door, okay?”

“Are you serious?” The demon shot back shrilly. “I’m _naked!_ ”

“Put a towel on and open the door.” Dean added, hand jerking the door handle Emma hadn’t locked herself.

“Can’t you give me some PRIVACY?” The demon dragged the blade up to her throat and held the flat edge against it, hissing in Emma’s ear. “ _Get rid of them or I’ll kill them both._ ”

“I changed your diapers,” Dean retorted, rattling the door slightly. “I don’t care if you’re naked. Open the god damn door.”

“Guys I’ll—” Emma spoke for herself, the demon’s knife digging into her collar bone as she spoke. “—I’ll be out in a minute. I just need a sec.”

“Em, seriously, last chance.” Sam ordered, disregarding her request. “Open the door or I’m kicking it down, naked or not.”

The demon hissed lowly, “So much for getting out of here quietly.” The demon raised a hand, creating some sort of sigil on the door. Emma recognized it from Bobby’s books, a kind of demonic barrier sigil that’d prevent Sam and Dean from simply opening or breaking down the door.

Grabbing the front of Emma’s shirt, the demon slammed Emma up against the wall furthest from the tub and pressed the blade to her throat again, her legs scrambling up off the ground as she fought the demon’s hold. The bathroom filled with steam from the tub, the tap still oozing out brown-looking water. “Open up, little Winchester. It’ll be a lot less painful if you do.”

“IT’S A DEMON!” Emma screamed in warning to her brothers, twisting at the demon’s wrist and managing to kick into one of her knees in three rapid successions.

The demon-clerk dropped Emma to the ground with a pained grunt and the youngest Winchester rolled to the side, scrambling on her knees to get the bathroom door open.

“CAS! NEED YOU!” Dean must’ve been throwing all his weight into the door given the thunderous SLAM that followed his shout. “OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!”

Just as her hand clenched the handle she was seized by her ankle and dragged back across the steam-soaked tile, the demon wrestling atop her to try and pierce the blade through her shoulder. Emma grappled with its hands, caught at the wrist and struggled to keep the weight of it up. Training. Bobby. Demons. _Think, Winchester!_ . "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus--!"

Her exorcism cut short as the demon launched her up off the ground and whole body slammed her down into the sludge-flooded tub. Emma sat up out of the stream sputtering and coughing, only to be knocked back down with enough force that her head bounced off the metal spout. It wasn’t enough to put her out but her vision darkened at the edges and she lost her grip on the sides of the tub. She fought to get upright again, barely managing to dodge the blade coming down in her chest as the demon held her down under the faucet head with one hand and tried to stab her with the other. Emma grappled with it blindly, suffocating in place of being repeatedly stabbed. The water flooded into her nose and mouth, Emma unable to catch a breath when her head shot up and was subsequently knocked into the damn spout again. The foul, brown-black water left a nauseating taste on her tongue, her own bile threatening to come up and join it as panic at the thought of drowning all over again bubbled to the surface with her fight for life.

She was suddenly hauled out bodily and launched into the opposite wall, rolling to a stop and coughing up droplets of water. The monstrosity had the audacity to seize her upright again and pin her to the wall, Emma too disoriented to fight back. The demon pried apart Emma’s lips before she could even try to hold back, pinned to the wall by black tendrils of smoke that threatened to penetrate up through her nose. The tendrils crawled along her neck, the demon’s eyes going entirely black. A fog of gray enclosed around her head, suffocating the breath from her lungs and those invasive wisps cramming down her throat, choking her.

Several things happened in immediate succession, collapsing on the ground, bangs, shouting, air returning to her ashen-clogged lungs and drawing out deep-throated coughs. She swatted, disoriented, at the hands that continued to grab at her, the only fight she could manage being blinded by ash and smoke.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, it’s okay! You’re okay!”

“How the hell did it find us so damn fast?!”

“Did you see where the other one went?”

“No, I came back as soon as I could.”

After several attempts at clearing her vision, Emma could finally make out through hazy eyes her brothers. Sam knelt down next to her, shaggy hair now, no trace of his old boyish appearance anymore. Dean stood beside Cas, and oddly enough looked not different, other than the visible signs of stress and exhaustion wearing on his face. Sam’s hand sat at the base of her back, encouraging her to get into a sitting position.

“I’m f-fine—” She croaked, a violent cough defeating her, hand at the back of her head.

“Yeah you sound great, Emmy.” Dean grumbled, gun hand still at the ready in case anything dared to reappear. “Can you stand? Cas, can you—?”

“—The lot is clear for now.” Cas finished for him, eyes fixed on Emma. “We should go now.”

Sam braced to help, grabbing her forearm and hauling her back up onto her feet. Emma wavered slightly, head throbbing. She pushed her brother’s hands away regardless. “I said I’m fine. Let’s just go.”

Dean and Cas led the way out of the motel room, Sam at Emma’s side and braced as though he were preparing for her to drop at any moment. Her head throbbed like someone had dumped rocks inside and shook it around with her brain, and every so often things would weave in and out of focus. Her back hit something hard, Sam’s hands on either side of her biceps. She was vaguely aware of being laid back, the night sky no longer visible above her, legs dangling out the end of an unfamiliar vehicle.

“Stay here, okay?”

Out of the corner of her eye she could make out blasts of angelic light, vaguely noting the sounds of a gun discharging. She could’ve fallen asleep just like that if it weren’t for something else latching onto her foot, dragging her not-so-subtly out and away from the car. The rush of adrenaline was enough that she could kick at her attacker’s hand, freeing her ankle and back onto her feet in a matter of seconds. The creature pounced at her, her chest colliding with the side of the car and knocking the wind out of her. She grunted in frustration, flinging her elbows back, swinging her sore head around to try and clock the damn demon before it pressed her face to the glass.

“Settle down and this can be a lot less painful for you.”

Silver ignited around her hands braced up against the car, her brothers unable to see her fight as they handled their own onslaught of demons. With all the energy she could muster Emma reached back and seized the demon’s shirt, wrenching it up over its head and kicking its side the moment it wiggled around in surprise. The demon fell to the ground with a hiss, managing to fix itself only in time for a sneaker to meet his throat. Where did her brothers put the damn weapons? The demon suddenly disappeared from under her foot, neck clenched in Castiel’s hand. This was the first she’d seen of him fighting with enough clarity to realize what he meant by his own grace. Eyes and palms emitted a bright white-blue light, like what she’d seen when she called upon Jophiel for help. The light consumed the demon’s dark in an almost poetic display of power, and the creature exploded into nothing but black dust particles.

“Everyone alright?” Dean called out, coming around the front side of the car. “We need to get the hell out of here right now.”

“Fine.” Emma muttered in retort, managing to open the back-driver’s side door on her second attempt and hauling herself inside.

Dean piled in behind the steering wheel, Sam in the front passenger, and Cas directly behind him. They buckled up and Dean hardly waited for all doors to be closed before he reversed out of the parking space and shot away from the hotel like a bat out of hell. Sam whirled around in his seat, hands reaching for Emma’s face before she slapped him away.

“Leave me alone, damn you.”

“You’re hurt pretty bad. You need to let me see it.”

“How about we talk about why the _hell_ we just got attacked by a bunch of demons and how the hell they knew where we were already.”

Emma reached up to touch the back of her head, finding fingers already nestled in her hair a complete surprise. She thought about snapping with the angel, but whatever bond-magic he was working with began to soothe the area in ways she could only have dreamt of. She hadn’t realized just how numb her skull was until she could feel Cas working on it, his hand placed lightly above the angrily rising bruise. Silver continued to emit from her fingertips and his, and the impending tidal wave of exhaustion that’d ever so steadily been creeping towards shore finally careened over her body. She slipped unconscious before she could even begin to form a protest.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Em?” Sam shook his sister’s shoulder as her eyes rolled up into her head, body slumping forward lifelessly. “EM!”

“She’s resting.” Cas assured him, drawing the girl closer to him, palm to her forehead and her body resting against his. “I’m working on fixing the head injury now.”

“Wait, what?” Dean looked at Cas in the rearview mirror briefly before getting onto the highway and finally putting distance between them and the motel. “I thought you weren’t a healing angel, Cas.”

“I’m not. However, I have recently discovered that close proximity with Emma allows us to heal one another.”

“How…is that possible?” Sam asked, leaning back in his seat. “She healed you?”

“We encountered Zachariah in Montana. It seems that Michael has ordered my immediate execution. Zachariah missed and was unsuccessful in killing me, but did injure me gravelly. When Zachariah was vanquished, Emma was able to heal me.”

“But how??”

“I don’t know.” Cas admitted, adjusting Emma slightly so her head rested in his lap and he could continue to siphon power to her.

“How can you not know?”

“We believe that the memories of what our marks entail have been lost to history due to divine intervention. This would hold the information necessary to explain everything to you.”

Dean pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “What marks, Cas?”

“Emma and I each have one on our side. When together, they would create a perfect circle. It emits a silver light when we are near.” He held up one hand, imbued with silver light to illustrate his point. “But we do not know much of anything about it. Balthazar, my brother, explained that all this history has been destroyed or lost to Adlivun.”

“What…?” Sam paused. “Adlivun? Like, the Underworld?”

“Yes.”

“This is too much right now.” Dean grit his teeth, hands viciously kneading the steering wheel. “The Apocalypse and Michael and Lucifer and now this Jophiel bitch has come back. Cas just…start over from the beginning. You need to tell us everything that you know. No leaving shit out, you got me?”

“Yes, Dean.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We were too late, your Grace. By the time we arrived, the other Winchesters were there as well.”

“And where are they now?” Jophiel demanded with a quirked brow. “Or have we lost them yet again?”

“We have a vehicle in pursuit at this time.” Javier explained. “Awaiting my final instruction. We can engage them, but that would be at the risk of killing them.”

Jophiel considered for a moment or so, pacing around her new throne room, formerly Lucifer’s. “Have we begun to engage Michael’s army?”

“Yes, your Grace. Your supporters have taken the war to Heaven, and those that attempt to escape are met by your army here on Earth. Michael’s numbers are diminishing greatly.”

“He’ll have no choice but to face me himself soon. Engage the vehicle. Bring me all of them.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Hold on a second, missy.” Lucifer growled from his cell. “From the sound of it, my vessel is also in that car. You planning on letting me the hell out and bringing him to me?”

“Not a chance.” Jophiel turned her back to him. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to let you and Michael take control of your vessels?”

“What’s the harm? You got all this power now. You got what you wanted. Now you’re chickening out of a fair fight?”

“Perhaps it’s that I don’t trust you, Luci.” Jophiel approached his cell, lingering arms-length away from his ability to try and grab her through the thin bars.

“I gave you an army,” Lucifer flashed his red eyes. “I gave you back your Grace. We were a team.”

“And that’s why Alastair tried to put a knife in my back, was it? Because we’re a team?”

Lucifer fell quiet for a moment. “I mean, I don’t have control over what—”

“Huh. The devil doesn’t have control over his servants? Strange. I haven’t had any sort of problems.”

“Your little power trip was cute at first,” Lucifer’s eyes darkened, blood red irises flashing at her. “But I’ve had enough of you.”

“And _I_ have had enough of being ordered around by you, by Michael, Raphael, Father, everyone. I want my vessel, Luci. This isn’t a pretty face to look at anymore.”

Indeed, Vanessa’s body could no longer contain Jophiel’s tremendous power. The poor girl practically withered away by now, her consciousness completely snuffed out. Emma Winchester needed to be obtained at once, Paired or not. The power of the Marked would only add to her fight against Michael, and would be the edge she needed to bury her eldest brother into the very bowels of Hell. Vanessa’s flesh tore away from her eyes the most, the angelic blue hue so intense it caused nearby demons to flinch back.

Jophiel waited, unmoved by her brother’s display of power. When he’d finished and not a thing changed, she leaned closer, holding his gaze, forcing glimmers of green into his red irises. “Lucifer. You will be silent from this point on. Are we clear?”

“Stop!” Lucifer growled, shaking his head, trying to fight it.

“You will be silent and you will remain still at all times.”

The devil clutched his head, flinging himself about his cell and screaming, cursing, until finally everything went eerily still. He looked up, staring into nothingness with green dancing around in his eyes. Jophiel smiled. “Good, Luci. Now sit down.”

He obeyed immediately, back to the wall, legs folded beneath him. She could see him visibly twitch, still trying to fight her power. It would do him no good.

“Javier?”

“Yes, your Grace?”

“Bring all the occupants in the vehicle to our setup. I think it’s time I got reacquainted with my vessel.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, all this means what, exactly?” Dean scowled. “We have to go fetch this stuff out of the Land of the Dead?”

“Adlivun.” Castiel corrected, stroking a hand absently over Emma’s healed head, ensuring he hadn’t missed a spot. “And Emma would be the ideal one to go. There are things of hers that—”

“Go how though?”

Cas didn’t respond.

Sam appeared to put the pieces together faster than Dean. “We…would have to kill her.”

“Temporarily.” Cas added hastily.

“Temporary my ass. I just got her back and now you want us to sign off on the okay to kill her?”

“I believe that I would have the strongest tie to bringing her back, Dean.” Cas continued. “Our marks appear to connect us so that—”

“—I don’t give a damn how deep you’re bonded or whatever! We’re not gambling with Emma’s life.”

“Oh, so we should just gamble with yours instead, Dean?” Sam snapped. “That’s what you’re going to say, right? That you’re just gonna play the part as the sacrificial lamb and make the decision for us? What if we don’t have any other options?”

“We don’t.” Cas muttered irritably. “The only one who would be able to negotiate with Sedna would be Emma, because there are things of hers that are lost in Adlivun. Should it have belonged to either of you, I would suggest that you be the ones to go.”

“We don’t need whatever is there to beat these guys.”

“We might. I do not have the strength to take on Michael’s army, Dean. And neither do you.”

“We’ll come up with something else.” Dean replied defiantly. “If we keep Emma away from Jophiel, she can’t compel her to—SHIT!”

A split second too late Dean noticed headlights suddenly blaring into the side of the loner car he’d taken from the junkyard. The attacking car veered across the median and slammed headfirst into the driver’s side door, sending the car spinning out of control across the highway. Castiel shielded Emma from the flying shards of glass as Dean fought to regain stability. But they were smashed into once again, this time sending the vehicle over the far-right guardrail and down into a ravine. The car flipped violently over and over again, slamming on its roof and side in alternating tumbling motions until it finally came to a stop on its roof. By then all occupants succumbed to unconsciousness, the doors being pried apart by multiple demons that seized up each of the bodies and disappeared into the night.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Emma came to feeling worse than she last remembered, and far more constricted in her movements as well. She blinked her eyes open halfway, but her vision tunneled and blacked out again for a moment. She shook her head a little, fighting that edged desire to fall back into unconsciousness and instead try to get a grip on what was happening around her. If she had to guess, her surroundings seemed to be that of an unfinished basement. Nothing but solid concrete all around, metal support beams in each of the individual corners and possibly further back behind the stairwell directly in front of her face. Any of the small, rectangular windows that could have let in light appeared to have been colored in with wet black paint that left a lingering aftertaste. She tried to take a step forward, only to be jerked back into place by her wrists. She wriggled them about, something tight biting into her skin. Some kind of wiring, eerily familiar to the kind she wore before, the memory of such more painful that the blood it drew.

“Sam?” She hissed into the darkness, trying to adjust her eyes. “Dean? Cas?”

A low groan resounded from her right, towards the back of the basement and just beyond the stairs that she had to crane her neck to see. Even then it was nearly impossible with how dark everything was, but judging by the length of the legs and how Sam towered above her before…

“Sam!”

She could tell he was moving, though probably not fully comprehensible to his surroundings either. Emma edged off her sneaker with one foot and braced it on her toes, arching her foot back and launching it in the direction of her twin’s stiff movements.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“ _Sam._ ” She snapped for the third time.

“Em?”

“Yeah it’s me. Can you move?”

“Uh…” There was a pause while Sam tried to fidget, followed by a resigned sigh. “No. My hands are tied. You?”

“Same. What the hell happened?”

“Something ran us off the road…”

That explains the new pain Emma though to herself. “Can you see Dean anywhere? Cas?”

“I can’t see much of anything. Damn it, my head.”

“How bad are you hurt?”

“I’m f—”

“—Sam, I swear to god.”

He sighed again. “Head. Uh…think my arm might be broken. Hard to tell, hurts like hell.”

She resigned irritably. “No sign of Dean or Cas?”

“Not that I can tell. What about you?”

“Head kills again.” Emma managed, straightening her back as best she could. Dry blood sat plastered to her face, practically cementing her hair to her skin. She glanced down. “Legs don’t look great.” She managed only to get her back partially straightened. “Fuck. Ribs. They hit on my side?”

“Yeah…we need to find Dean.”

Emma wriggled her wrists as best she could, but the wire cutting into her wrists dug so deep she could practically feel it grating against bone. “Unless you got wire cutters…not happening on my end.”

“Think I left those in my other pants.”

“Maybe in your wig.” The jesting helped feel like the crushing reality of their situation wasn’t quite as dire as it could be, if only for a short while. "Seriously, what's up with the hair?"

“You have no room to talk, looks like you cut off your hair with a lawn mower.”

“Shut up.”

The door at the top of the staircase flew open, and several sets of footsteps started down, a blinding figure encompassed in light the first and foremost easiest part to see. If she hadn’t seen the figure in her dream so often, she might not recognize the archangel now. Jophiel’s skin pulled apart at almost every corner, light emitting from cracks in her skin like she were a cracked statue. Three additional figures followed, two with their eyes blindfolded and their mouths gagged, but with Jophiel’s light she could determine one was Dean, and the other Cas. The last figure strong-armed Dean to the far corner of the room, her brother grunting and fighting against the hold, but unable to do much blind, bound, and gagged. Dean was shoved violently against one of the other supporting beams in the concrete basement, forced onto his knees before his arms were restrained back around the pole in a similar trussed up manner as Emma herself.

Jophiel forced Castiel to kneel in front of Emma, his hands bound behind him with what looked to be a simple iron chain, however in every intricate corroded link were sigils she’d never seen before, glowing a soft orange. The archangel smiled, her irises consumed by a blue-green angelic light. “Hello again, Emma.”

“What the hell did you do to him?” Emma demanded, aiming for intimidating though it punctuated with a pained wheeze.

Castiel appeared to be in the worst shape of them all. If Grace could heal, Cas’ sure wasn’t doing the job. Blood soaked onto his skull; his arms, legs, and torso covered in splits, cuts, and bruises, if not for additional several splatters of blood. The angel appeared to be favoring his right side, shifting on his knees in a way that he could avoid leaning onto what was assuredly numerous broken bones. Dean grunted into his mouth gag, silenced suddenly by a sharp blow to his head that stilled him.

“DEAN!” Sam yelled. “STOP!”

“Javier, did you forget to gag that one?”

“My apologies, your Grace.”

“Hey! NO! Leave him alone!”

Her protests went ignored, and Sam’s irate shouts fell to just annoyed huffs and grunts. Looking more at ease, Jophiel removed the blindfold from Castiel’s bruised eyes, the edges fraying with purple. Emma’s heart lurched in her chest, the angel barely even able to open his eyes, blue irises peering out through swollen lids. Jophiel stroked her fingers through his bloody hair, and Cas flinched back away.

“Stop touching him.” Emma growled, the venom in her voice clawing up from her throat as she jerked against her restraints again.

Jophiel paused for a moment, a smirk playing across her lips. “Why?”

 _Why? Because…Because…_ Emma couldn’t find a reason. Just the sight of Jophiel stroking Castiel like he was her pet sent shockwaves of rage down her aching chest.

“What do you want?” Emma demanded instead, throat hoarse.

“What I’ve always wanted.” Jophiel replied with an indifferent shrug. “For you to continue to be my vessel. You threw me out, Emma. Do you know how much that hurt?”

“Not as much as it hurt me to be your long-standing puppet. You used me without my consent—”

“—You are _mine_ to use.” Jophiel snapped with a flash of green. “Your sole purpose in existing is to be a servant to me. Just as Dean is to Michael, and Sam is to Lucifer.”

“We exist to stop things like you from destroying all of humanity.”

“We don’t need to destroy humanity. You’ve done it to yourselves.”

“There’s great parts of humanity.”

Jophiel laughed. “Like what? Family? _Love_? That’s what you’re going to say, right? That humans experience love and that makes up for your wars, your crimes, your sins?”

“It doesn’t make up for it, but it’s better than what you ever had.” Emma scowled, pulling at her restraints again. “I’m sorry your Father didn’t love you enough to restore you, but that’s no reason to take it out on my family.”

“Your Father didn’t love you either.” Jophiel moved around Castiel, grabbing Emma by the neck. “He left you to die that day. And then your brothers left you. What do you have to live for, Emma Winchester?” She seemed to consider her own question, then suddenly lifted up the corner of Emma’s shirt, revealing her silver mark. “This? All other Marked were killed centuries ago. But for arguments sake, let’s say this is your shining chance to prove that humanity has something to offer. That love is real.”

Jophiel returned behind Castiel and violently pulled the angel up onto his feet by his hair. She tugged the gag out of his mouth as well, Castiel panting and scowling, trying not to meet Emma’s eyes. “Our Father would be ashamed if He could see you now.”

“Quiet.” Jophiel withdrew a silver blade, pressing it up against Castiel’s throat. “Emma. Have you discovered what these marks are yet?”

“Not…no.” Emma answered with a snap. “Some kind of…bonding mark or something. It means we’re connected.”

“You’re soulmates.”

Even Sam’s harrumphing quieted at the revelation, but Castiel finally met Emma’s gaze, and it was like he knew. Deep down…maybe she’d known it too. This wasn’t the way she wanted to find out, to have the information thrown in her face like it was meaningless. With the way Cas was looking at her now, it was like he felt the same way.

“Souls are complex little things,” The archangel elaborated, tracing the knife back and forth across Cas’ neck. “As it should be, one soul, one body. But every now and then they split apart, and one soul becomes two, and is shared between two bodies. Those two fragmented souls desperately wish to reunite. Father considered this a great blessing instead of a curse, a representation of two humans who cannot do without the other. Father had never seen such compassion, such need between two individuals who should have been one. Those two split souls become nearly whole, but fit together again like…puzzle pieces, I suppose. They become two individuals with just a missing piece. When they come together again, they will never part. They can never actually physically fuse back together, but instead will find a way back to each other, again and again.”

“She doesn’t—” Castiel started, silenced by the blade digging into his throat.

“STOP!” Emma’s fight turned nearly to pleads. “You want me to say ‘yes’, is that it? Let them go!”

“My child I can make you say yes now if I so choose. Now, the likelihood of two Marked finding each other again is…improbable. But those that do, are granted with inhuman abilities in order to protect the other. It’s our understanding Father made this so that the Marked, who together become the Paired, can live together for as long as they are able. The Paired are also able to find a way back to each other, no matter how many lifetimes should pass, no matter the distance.” She paused. “That additional power would give me the last little edge I need to finish this little war with my brothers. So…”

The blade moved, presumably from his neck and into his back as Castiel shifted closer with a quick, unexpected lurch. “Now no touching…not that you could…but I’d like the two of you to kiss.”

Sam grumbled something unintelligible and Jophiel sighed. “Javier—”

“—STOP! NO!”

Jophiel held up a hand and Javier hesitated, releasing his grip on Sam’s hair. “Alright, Emma. I can be understanding. This doesn’t have to be ugly. Nice and easy, just kiss the angel, then.”

“What…will kissing him do?” Emma desperately struggled to stall for time, for their circumstances to change somehow. There had to be something that she could do. She thought to what Cas had said, who this war was against. The brother that could possibly put a stop to all of this. The thought dawned on her instantly, and it was as though Cas read her mind. His eyes widened as much as they could, the hardened look behind them commanding, ordering. No.

Jophiel appeared not to have noticed. “Bring you closer. I don’t exactly want either of you to become wholly Paired, but every inch closer to it gives me that power I need. I want to see what you have. I—”

 _Father…er…Michael…whatever. Angel. Hear my prayer._ Emma wordlessly tuned out the archangel as she spoke further of her plan, maintaining eye contact. _Please. Find me. I’ll do anything just please…save my brothers. Don’t hurt Castiel. Jophiel is here—_

Castiel’s eyes shut the remainder of the way, the angel seemingly concentrating as though he could burst from his restraints at any given moment. When his eyes opened again, it was as though all the fight snuffed out from his blue-red eyes. He shook his head slightly. “Don’t—”

“Castiel—” Jophiel drove the knife harder into his spine and Cas groaned. The archangel fixed Emma with an icy glare, green eyes burning so intensely it could put a hole in her head. “Do it.”

“If I kiss him, you’ll let him and my brothers go?”

“It’s possible.”

“Don’t give in to—”

Jophiel rammed the angel blade straight through Castiel’s shoulder and the angel let out an unintended scream, nearly collapsing down onto his knees but still by Jophiel’s superior strength, holding him in place, twisting the knife around as blood pooled from the wound and Emma could do nothing to help him.

“STOP! OKAY! OKAY!”

Castiel was forcibly straightened upright and they were mere inches from their bodies touching, Cas gasping with pain, Emma with the pinpricks of pain and hopelessness as tears in the corners of her eyes. Before Castiel could try to argue against it again, she stretched forward as far as she could go, cramming her cut lips to his in a fierce, desperate kiss. Everything made sense then. Castiel’s presence in her life, the way that being around him brought about a sense of comfort and familiarity, the logic fell together to form a perfect picture. Cas didn’t react at first, but even his hesitation lasted a millisecond, cautious movements of his lips exploring hers as though he’d kissed her a thousand times but only just now became reacquainted. She yearned to touch him, struggling harder against the wire, pulling into a fresh trail of blood carved into her wrists. Cas responded by moving in closer as well, the tender, desperate movements of his own lips reminding her that this wasn’t going to keep.

Regrettably, the moment lasted seconds, but in those seconds, was more peace than she’d ever experienced in her lifetime. She tried to press herself impossibly closer, jerked back into place by her restraints. She wanted to return to it, but Cas was pulled away all too quickly and made to kneel once again. Silver followed them both, stretched between their two bodies like a glittering ribbon, the haze of pain completely gone from Cas’ eyes despite the numerous injuries, all of which struggled to heal. She could see it in his face too, that more than ever, they couldn’t afford to lose the other. Despite the flurry of other emotions, the confusion, this sensation stood out most among the rest. The need to be closer, the need to be together. Emma sank awkwardly to her knees, the danger melting to the back of her mind, the urge to be closer taking over even as they were held mere inches apart.

“Cas…”

In a flash of motion, the angel blade protruded from Castiel’s chest.

“NO!”

Angelic blue light filled the room and Castiel burst from his own body, light emitting from his eyes, mouth, blinding her until suddenly the basement stilled, the only light coming from Jophiel herself. Cas’ body collapsed in a lifeless heap by her knees, his wings scorched into the concrete just like Uriel. The silver light vanished, her soulmark aching, throbbing with the reminder that their connection severed. Instead it was replaced with nothing but a cold she hadn’t felt since the night she’d almost died, icy tendrils clawing at her heart. 

She hadn’t realized she was screaming until Jophiel’s hand viciously clamped over her mouth, and only then did she swallow down the sound, thick, angry tears spilling down her dirtied face. All of her hatred, all of the heartache burned behind her hazel irises, as though it were going to be the threatening gaze that would force the archangel to surrender.

Jophiel’s green-blue eyes bore into Emma’s hazels. “Say yes, Emma. ‘Yes Jophiel, I will be your vessel’.”

She moved her hand away from Emma’s mouth, waiting. The seconds drew on, the only sound to be heard was Emma struggling to rein in her sobs. She couldn’t look away from Castiel’s body.

Jophiel growled and grabbed Emma beneath her jaw, locking their eyes again. “Tell me I can use you as my vessel.”

“Bite me, you _fucking_ bitch.”

“EMMA WINCHESTER! YOU WILL OBEY ME!” Jophiel gripped her neck, tight. “YOU WILL ALLOW ME TO USE YOU AS MY VESSEL!”

Unable to do anything but glare, the flashing threat of compulsion in Jophiel’s eyes did absolutely nothing. Not an iota of obligation or urge to obey came to the surface, and were it not for the rage bubbling in her stomach, she’d have laughed in the archangel’s face. Instead, she simply replied, “No.”

Jophiel growled, snapping her fingers. Javier immediately brought Sam over, her brother twisting and fighting against the demon/angel’s hold. Whatever the hell he was. Sam stood before Jophiel, arms still behind his back, gagged but able to see perfectly into her eyes.

“Sam, don’t look in her eyes!”

Immediately her twin stared resolutely upwards, the gag tugged from his mouth by Javier, who then forced him to his knees with no effort whatsoever. Kicking Castiel’s corpse aside like trash, Jophiel seized Sam’s hair, snarling as he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“Open those damn eyes, Sam, or the last thing you’ll ever hear is your brother and sister gargling on their own blood.”

“Sam, don’t—”

Jophiel reached over with her free hand, the same blade she’d used to kill Castiel now at her throat, still dripping fresh with the angel’s blood.

“Sam. Open your eyes, or your sister dies.”

“Don’t you dare, Sam. Don’t you dare. She’s lying. She can’t afford to kill me.”

Sam’s eyes were still shut, though not as tight.

“I’ll give you until the count of three. One-”

“Don’t give in to this bitch.”

“Two.”

“Sam I JUST GOT YOU BACK, PLEASE—”

“Th—”

Sam’s eyes opened before she could even get past two, his eyes deadlocking with Emma’s, spending his remaining seconds silently apologizing before he willingly met Jophiel’s possessive gaze. Immediately his hazel eyes flooded with glittering reflections of green, and he lightly bowed his head.

“Sam! SAM!”

“Sam…” Jophiel purred, helping him up onto his feet and caressing his face.

“STOP TOUCHING HIM!”

“I need a vessel for this war. I’d like you to say yes.”

“SAM DON’T—”

“Yes, your Grace.” Sam murmured hypnotically. “I will be your vessel.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The war had come to a temporary standstill, but it was enough for Michael to gather his wits, gather what remained of his army, and try to recover from the devastating loss. Just because Jophiel had greater numbers shouldn’t have meant such tragic failure, and yet his own army were turning against him, fleeing to join Jophiel before they met the same fate as their brothers and sisters. Raphael offered little advice for the situation, only that they now had the time to regroup and reconsider tactics. Jophiel remained absent from the battlefield, which in itself wasn’t strange, but that she left numerous backups for each of her individuals in command to continue taking her place. In fact, he hadn’t seen heads or tails of his sister since her army first breeched through Heaven’s gates. Michael gained a temporary upper hand, driving all of the traitorous angels back down to Earth, only to then be ambushed by a surge of demons.

The eldest archangel was pouring over his next plans when he heard the prayer. A prayer directed…at himself? For a moment he thought it a trick, elected to ignore it, but the voice was penetrating, something that he knew he’d heard once before. Concentrating on the sound, he shut his eyes and the rest of the world out, following the voice to Emma Winchester. She was with Jophiel. As were the other two Winchesters. Locating all three of them at once would give Michael the push he needed in this war. He could come to their aid, gain Dean Winchester’s favor for saving their lives. It should be no trouble to convince him then to fulfill his role as a servant of God. Dean Winchester already began to edge toward acceptance of his own free will. Now would be the chance to seal the favor and possibly take his sister down.

Taking nothing but a few entrusted soldiers with him, Michael followed the prayer, knowing that it would lead him directly to the hidden Winchesters, and finally allow Michael to confront his sister.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s a bit snug,” Jophiel commented, extending Sam’s arms out in front of her, then staring down at his legs. “But I suppose he’ll do for the time being.” Emma slouched helplessly against her restraints, Jophiel’s possessive green eyes taking over Sam’s hazel as she gripped Emma’s face and held it upright so they could make eye contact. “This wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d just said yes.”

“Get the hell…out of my brother.”

“Hm…no. Don’t think I will. You would be my ideal fit, child. But you were never my only option. Javier?”

Dean was seized roughly by the arm by Jophiel’s servant, regaining consciousness at some point so that he fought and twisted against Javier’s hold. In a much similar fashion to Sam and Cas, Dean was forced to kneel in front of Emma, his blindfold finally removed. Dean, if at all possible, looked worse than Castiel had. Hardly a spot on his face went unmarked by blood, bruises, cuts, or swelling, and despite it all the rage behind his eyes was so palpable Emma could flinch away from it. Now more than ever, Emma wanted the Dean she had when she was just a small kid. Back then, Dean was like a superhero. He’d had all the answers. He knew every cure, every trick, every solution to any possible problem they came across. In in a situation as dire as this, she needed that Dean back. Right when she felt helpless all over again. Only this time, there was no answer. And Emma needed to be the one to save their lives. Jophiel crouched and removed the gag from Dean’s mouth.

“…Sammy?” A ghost of confusion crept over Dean’s face.

“No…guess again.”

“I tried…Dean I’m sorry I—” Emma stammered.

“You see we tried to use Emma as the vessel, but she had to go and say no. Sam here was much more accommodating.”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean growled. “I’ll make you pay for this.”

“That’s adorable, Dean. You’re not going to make me do anything. In fact, you’re going to give me a hand here.” Javier moved behind Emma and jerked her upright into a standing position, pressing the flat edge of the knife against her throat while Jophiel untied Dean’s hands from the thin, durable wire. Emma’s broken ribs dug viciously against her lungs and that horrible, suffocating feeling of helplessness began to smother her, chest stuttering in fear. Dean rubbed his bloodied wrists and took a step closer to Emma when Javier dug the knife in just slightly.

“Ah-ah. Dean. Now is the time for listening, are we clear?” Jophiel brushed Sam’s hair out of her face before reaching over to caress Dean’s jaw. “Dean. Look at me.”

“Please—” Emma begged, eyes drilling, pleading with her brother not to. “Don’t—”

“I won’t ask again.” Jophiel purred, draping her arm over Dean’s shoulder, enticing his face to turn to hers. Dean’s fingers clenched and unclenched into tight, furious fists. Javier gently slid the angel blade across Emma’s neck, drawing a few spots of blood for where it managed to nick her skin. Dean became positively rigid, thoughts spinning in his head before finally, he slumped his shoulders in defeat. He met Emma’s gaze again for just a moment.

“Emmy, I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Dean…Dean please. Please I can’t lose you too…”

He said nothing in response. Then, he looked into Jophiel’s eyes.

“Please, please…I’ll do anything you want just…leave him alone.”

The same possessive green glittering lights consumed Dean’s irises, and his head snapped hypnotically forward, staring through Emma. Castiel, her brothers…Emma’s will to fight depleted then, and she succumbed to her sobs, body wracking as she was forced to look at her possessed family. She wanted nothing more than to have them back, to be a family again, laugh and screw around with Sam, watch as Dean grew into the best kind of man he could be, just to have her brothers back. All that time she’d spent lamenting her frustrations toward them to Jophiel had come to a head, just as Castiel cautioned. She took every ounce of the Winchester’s vulnerability and exploited it, manipulating both her brothers, killing the angel. For the longest time she hated Sam and Dean for abandoning her, told them she wanted nothing to do with them. Even in the car told them she wanted them out of her life. And this is what it all amounted to.

She was getting what she deserved.

Javier passed the blade over to Dean, who closed his fingers around it without hesitation.

Jophiel-Sam pressed a taunting kiss to Dean’s jaw. “Dean. Kill your sister.”

Dean stepped forward, raising the blade up and dragging it along her jawline. Javier moved away and stood beside his master, the two supernatural beings watching with intent eyes to see the tragedy unfold. Emma didn’t want to look at Dean, didn’t want to see the possession in his eyes as he took her life. He’d blame himself, when everything was said and done. Dean would be alone, and he would bury that pain away inside of him until he couldn’t take it anymore. He was prone to the same self-destructive behaviors John was. But this time, there’d be nobody around to reel him back in.

Emma straightened as best she could, meeting his empty gaze with the last droplets of courage that she had. “Dean…please. It’s me. It’s Emma. You don’t…I know you don’t want to do this.” The knife stopped at her throat, Dean tilting his head slightly. “Please. You’ve been gone for eight years. I can’t…you’ve always come to my rescue.”

Her brother stood stoic, and despite her fears, she met her brother’s possessed eyes. He looked at her blankly, though his eyebrows pressed closer together, as though he were confused by the very sound of her voice. She straightened her back as best she could.

“Do you remember the time Bobby Undike made fun of me in fourth grade? Remember how he put my hair into paint during art class? And when I told you about it, you took me back to the motel, and you sat with me all night, washing my hair until all the paint was gone? I saw Bobby the next day and he had a black eye and an apology card for me. I knew it was you. Just like all the other times.”

“Dean…” Jophiel interrupted irritably. “Kill her.”

The blade pressed harder against Emma’s throat, drawing more blood, but she didn’t take her eyes away. “What about…about the night that I almost died? When Dad went after Azazel?” Recognition flickered in Dean’s eyes, his own natural green fighting to regain focus. “We’d been looking for it all our lives, but you didn’t go after it. You stayed to s—”

Her sentence cut short as Javier recycled Dean’s gag and used it to silence her, earning him a pat on the back from the archangel. “Thank you. Dean. Kill her. I don’t want to have to ask you again.”

Though the possession had him, Dean still hadn’t moved. His wielding arm trembled slightly against her neck, eyes rapidly blinking.

Jophiel scowled. “Dean. NOW!”

The basement ceiling suddenly exploded, white-blue light pouring in and numerous bodies coming down from the upper floor. Chaos erupted in a matter of seconds, the floor opening up in fragments beneath their feet and dark clouds coming to combat the light. A hand touched Dean’s shoulder, and that’s all it took to rouse her brother from his trance. Dean blinked twice, realized where his hand was, and dropped the blade like it’d burned him, yanking the gag free from Emma’s mouth. He rushed behind her and ducked out of the way, a ball of light nearly scalping him.

“Dean hurry!” Emma pleaded, unable to see a thing through the mass of black smoke and various balls of light shooting in every direction. Screams followed, shouts of rage, commands of “DON’T LET THEM ESCAPE!” going completely ignored.

“I’m trying, dammit!”

Not an inch of the building hadn’t exploded into battle between what could only be angels and demons alike. The moment a body dropped, it was replaced by another, shouts, screams, prayers, and a cry of outrage from Jophiel herself, still piloting Sam’s body. Emma’s hands finally fell free and Dean wrapped an arm around her, bolting for the staircase as fast as his own injured body could carry them. A hand seized his leg before he could reach the top, the two of them crashing down the staircase and Emma falling harshly onto her broken ribs. She managed to swallow down her screams, feeling Dean’s arms on her again before she could try to recover on her own, hauling her up the stairs once again. This time they were able to clear the stairwell, the entire surface floor of the building now gone.

It must have been a cabin of sorts, everything that remained made of brick but surrounded by logs like something out of a Christmas vacation cartoon. But outside, nothing but snow and trees as far as the eye could see. Directly ahead appeared a smooth surface that stretched on along the path of the trees. A frozen lake or pond perhaps. Snow lightly dusted from the overcast clouds and continued to accumulate around the exposed interior of the cabin. The fireplace snuffed out from the coverage over now damp logs, and any furniture that might have remained crashed to the sub-floor below where the battle still raged on. Dean didn’t allow another second for hesitation, supporting Emma’s weight as best he was able as he started toward a shed to the southeast most corner of the cabin remnants. Now in actual outdoor lighting, it was much easier to tell how injured Dean was. If anything was broken, there’d be no determining it just by eyeballing him alone. But the way his breath wheezed out unevenly in smoky-white puffs with every step, how he had to readjust his hold on Emma, she knew he couldn’t take them very far.

“Dean…Dean just stop. Just go, lea—”

“—If you even say the words ‘leave me’ I swear I will kick your ass.”

“We don’t even…know where we are. And Sam—”

“We ain’t gonna be able to help Sam if we’re both dead, Emmy. Now shut it.”

Biting her tongue, she let Dean lead them through the snow over to the shed, Dean whooping happily when he threw open the doors. “We got some wheels!” Emma craned her neck to look inside, Dean pushing out a snowmobile. “Well…I mean not wheels exactly, but, transportation.”

“Can you dr-drive one of these?” The cold bit at her wounds like a match to her skin.

“I’m gonna damn well learn. Here,” He pulled his jacket off with all too much care and gingerly guided Emma’s arms into either sleeve. It left him with nothing more than his t-shirt and jeans. “Listen to me. We’re gonna get you help, okay? But we have to get…get out of here.”

“You—You don’t look g-good either, Dean. We…we’ll freeze.”

“Civilization’s gotta be nearby. And I’m not gonna just sit here and let us get taken by those bastards.” As if to prove his point, the cabin exploded into a cloud of black again, streaks of light shooting through the clearing fog.

They truly had no other options. Judging from the sounds coming from the basement, the brief but intense battle was near its end. Regardless of who was triumphant, the Winchesters would be the next target. Trusting her brother, Emma nodded and Dean helped her onto the snowmobile, taking the front with Emma at his back. She wrapped her arms around Dean’s midsection as best she could manage, Dean fiddling with a few switches before he turned the thing on.

“Not a ton of gas…this should get us a good distance away though. You ready, Em?”

She burrowed herself deeper into his jacket and nodded. “Go.”

Testing the accelerator, they jerked violently forward at the start, nearly throwing them both off the damn thing before they even got a foot away from the cabin. But Dean reaffixed his grip and gently twisted again, bringing them a steady, sloping pace away. The snowmobile eased onto the flat surface directly in front of them, hitting the surface with a hard thunk that had her gripping him tighter. From there Dean twisted harder, and the snowmobile shot off like a bullet across the surface. Emma clenched her eyes shut tight and buried her face into Dean’s back, holding on for dear life as they skirted across smooth surface at a speed she never wanted to endure in her life again. The cold made it all that much worse, the wind whipping at her face, stinging her eyes and ears until they went completely numb with cold. After some time, Dean began to slow, gently nudging Emma with his elbow.

“H-Hey…you h-hanging in?”

“Y-Yeah—” She managed, picking her head up slowly. She turned to look, but the cabin in the background was no longer visible, either due to distance or purely because of the haze of snow. “I…Dean I don’t s-see anything…”

“I know, baby girl. Just…Just h-hold on, okay? We’re…shit, we gotta—gotta get some place warm.”

“Dean?” The eldest Winchester wavered slightly, the snowmobile coming to a complete stop. No response. “Dean?”

Emma tugged at Dean’s arm, trying to get him to focus, but he slid from the snowmobile and hit the ground beside it with a lifeless thump. “DEAN!”

Dropping down by his side, she turned her brother to his back, finding a stain of blood in the snow just where his head had fallen. The injury wasn’t too fresh, so it must’ve come from when that damn demon punched him back in the basement. She shook him harder, slapping his face. “DEAN!”

He was still breathing, unevenly, but breathing nonetheless. But Dean must’ve lost a lot more blood than what she could see from just the snow alone, and it continued to accumulate beneath his head. Running through her list of options, she tried hauling him back upright to get back on the snowmobile, but her broken bones grinding against her muscle, tearing through her skin, and she collapsed back against the embankment with Dean beneath her. Alternately swearing and begging, she fought down the hysteria. If she lost it now, she might never be able to help them. She’d lost Sam, lost Cas…and now she and Dean were going to freeze to death in the god damn middle of nowhere. She tugged off Dean’s jacket and wrapped him back up in it, holding him to her chest to give whatever miniscule amount of body heat she might have left. She could lay here…they both could. Put an end to all this misery and just freeze to death.

No…now wasn’t the time for giving up. Dean needed her. He’d been there for all her ailments, all her desperate pleas for help, overcome impossible obstacles to save her life. She needed to fucking try. With great effort she managed to hook her arms under him and haul them both back up onto the snowmobile, sitting Dean upright and leaning his body over the steering mechanism for the time being. Her broken bones and fading consciousness threatened her, the reminder that she wasn’t quite in any condition to be going anywhere. Ignoring the pinpricks of darkness in her eyes, she grabbed for Dean’s belt and with violently trembling, numb fingers loosened it and freed it from his pants. She moved behind Dean on the snowmobile, looping the belt around both of their bodies and securing it as tightly as she could bare. Pulling her brother’s unconscious head forward, she shifted his legs to either side of the snowmobile and her own, so he was effectively riding the vehicle backwards. With his head to her chest she’d be able to control how far he moved, her arms braced on either side of him as they gripped the gears and pinned him in place. It wasn’t the most comfortable positioning, but it’d help share whatever minuscule body heat they had, and it’d prevent him from sliding one way or the other off.

Testing the accelerator, it was a lot harder to twist than she’d initially expected, which prevented the harsh lurch that they’d experienced the first time they took off. She gripped it as best as her numb fingers would allow, fighting the cold, fighting the urge to black out and die here in a hypothermic coma. Prepared as best as she possibly could, Emma encouraged the snowmobile onwards, with a quarter tank of gas left and absolutely no sign of civilization. That was how long she drove, until the engine sputtered underneath her grasp and her face burned in every possible way from the cold smacking her face at 45mph across a wasteland of absolute nothingness. But by some miracle, by some god damn grace of God, they stopped only a mile or so short of what appeared to be a small town. Or maybe just a cabin or two. Either way, there had to be something or someone there that could help. She wrestled herself and Dean off of the snowmobile and left it abandoned in the snow, adjusting the belt so she could still support some of Dean’s weight upright.

She tried not to focus on how positively blue and lifeless Dean looked, how absolutely cold and void of any further will to go on she had. They were both worse for wear, and as each step brought them somewhat closer to the cabin in the distance, it also drained what little of her life remained. She trudged forward through the knee-deep snow, dragging Dean, refusing to let go no matter how much he weighed. But it was too much. Only about a quarter of the way to the cabin, Emma collapsed face-first into the snow, sinking slightly beneath the soft surface. The cold hardly burned anymore, every square inch of her body so aflame with wind burn and cold that even snow paled in comparison to the ache. Dean laid beside her, unmoving, unjudging at her failures, and yet she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pathetic laughter in her chest. The one-time Dean needed her, and she couldn’t reciprocate.

Extending her arm, she wrapped herself closer to her eldest brother and held him as close as possible. “I’m s-sorry Dean…”

Somehow, she knew with sickening levels of certainty that Dean would’ve been pissed at how easily she’d given up.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel’s lips still burned lightly with the aftershock of the kiss. Even though he’d felt the blade pierce through his backside, the cold shock in his core, the ejection from his vessel, it’d lasted seconds, maybe minutes if he were to really try and focus on it. The sensations were all still there. The pull he’d felt, the need to break free and help the Winchesters, help Emma. But moreover, that he would have done anything to ensure that they could never be separated again. He knew now, whether he understood the reasons or not, that Emma was more to him than he could have ever anticipated. He’d known it when she was a little girl, reaching into his viewing pool and touching his true form. But kissing her brought a stark clarity to the haze of confusion, uncertainty. Only…

He’d never truly thought about his death, but imagining a vast woodland area much like his own heavenly sanctum wasn’t anywhere near the top list of contenders. The forest gave new meaning to the word “dense”, so many trees surrounding him that all their overhanging branches touched the others, creating a canopy of green hanging overhead. Stalks of grass came up to his knees, brushing against his pants and parting to the side as he trudged along blindly. There didn’t appear to be an intended path, no grass matted down to pave a certain way that others may have taken before him. Cas didn’t know this place, but he still felt guided as he took each step, fingers brushing up along tree trunks and gently nudging branches out of the way. The air cooled against his flushed face, colors reminding him of his viewing pool and beautiful reflections of natural things surrounding it.

He comes to a stop in front of Jimmy Novak, standing in front of him at the next sectioned area of trees, willow branches hanging down behind him. Jimmy wore only his white button down and jeans, arms folded over his chest and a look of pure irritability painted across his face. “You’re pathetic.”

“Who are you?” Cas demanded, stilling his hand against oak. “Why do you look like me?”

“If you didn’t know what you were doing, you shouldn’t have taken her from that house.”

“ _Who are you?_ ” Cas stepped forward, but still kept a safe distance between them.

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is how badly you screwed this up.”

“Jophiel is far more powerful than—”

“—Jophiel is a big showoff gobbling up virgin souls. She’s not powerful. She’s juiced up.” Fake Cas closed the distance between them, jamming a finger in his counterpart’s face. “The problem isn’t the archangels. The _problem_ is that you got sloppy.”

Cas considered for a moment, jaw clenching. “I died. There was nothing—”

“--You should have. But I intervened on your behalf because I’m not letting the last of His gifts get wasted away on sheer stupidity.”

“What gift? Who are you?”

“That gift.” Fake Cas waved a hand, parting Castiel’s shirt without a touch and exposing the mark on his side, glowing that same metallic light and emanating warmth to his core.

“The Soulmark?”

“ _Think_ , Castiel.” Fake Cas broached the barrier of personal space and rammed his pointer and middle finger to Cas’ forehead, their faces inches apart so he had to stare into Jimmy’s blue eyes. “I know what they took from you but you don’t need it to fight back. You have more power now. You can fix this.”

Cas swatted the hand away from his head. “How? I don’t have the same power. With Michael and Jophiel—”

Fake Cas looked about ready to start swinging, and lunged out at the lapels of his jacket instead, pinning Castiel to one of the trees and holding him in place. Cas struggled to free himself, realizing after only a moment that whatever this celestial being was, it had the superior strength here.

“She’s going to _die_ , Castiel. Is that what you want?” Fake Cas’ eyes flared a familiar vibrant, heavenly blue. “The world needs the Winchesters, and they’re all going to die because you thought it was too hard!”

“What can I do?!” Cas snarled in response. “I am one angel! Jophiel and Michael have armies!”

“Michael’s armies were wasted by the Paired centuries ago. Why do you think he took the memories of all the angels away? He’s afraid of that power! And you two are the last living Marked in existence. If you die now, you will never find each other again. Do you understand?”

Cas shoved Jimmy’s hands free from his jacket and staggered back a step or two, creating some distance, head spinning with confusion. “No. I don’t understand any of this. What are you?”

“I’m _you_!” The other retorted, that same pained look of frustration passing back into the creases along his eyes. “Another you from another lifetime, another failure of a soulmate that let her die because I too thought I was too weak to withstand the power of the angels.”

Cas faltered, nearly tripping over a tree root but quickly regaining his balance. “You’re…me? How is that possible? How is any of this possible? Where are we?”

“Castiel,” His former self growled, lunging at him again and clenching his jaw, holding him in place. “You don’t have time for all of these questions, and I have already said more than I could. It took everything that remains of me to get you here, to intervene and to wake you the fuck up. You were once a human, just like me. And you found your love, you Paired. And then you lost her. They tried to strip your soul away, turn you into a soldier of Heaven and ensure you could never find your way back to her again, but you still found it.”

“She—” Cas stammered, wriggling his face to get free once more. “We are not like—”

“I don’t CARE!” Alternate Cas growled, slamming Castiel into a tree with enough force that the forest surrounding them began to come apart, a gray mist settling along what was once a beautiful scenic land, and now revealed itself as a wasteland of gray, of empty. The hand clenched his jaw harder. “I don’t care that you don’t think you love or you feel or whatever idiotic void bullshit they drilled into your stupid little angelic soldier brain. Your Father has intervened in this matter, to bring you back, to give you what you need to save her.”

“She’s…just a hu—”

Cas regretted immediately trying to fight back against a creature so clearly out of his mind with rage and grief. He was slammed bodily down onto the fog-covered ground, the Alternate Cas revealing what was truly laying beneath the surface. All of this had been for show, for comfort. But now that the illusion began to fall to pieces, so did Alternate Castiel’s façade. The skin around Jimmy’s face pulled slack and began to wick away from his skull like candle wax, eyeballs drooping down his cheeks and hair falling in chunks and tatters around Cas’ head as he screamed, clawing at Fake Cas to get free.

But the horror show wasn’t close to over. The skull of the lost soul still pinning Cas to the gray, coarse ground turned to mush, the sides folding in over itself and pressing into where the brain would be, teeth falling out in groups of three or five and spilling all over Castiel’s jacket. The wax-like skin slipped down to his shirt like melted flesh-colored ice cream, oozing cold and disgustingly wet all over Cas’ torso. The sickening part was that Castiel recognized what this putrid figure was. This was what the lost souls of Adlivun became before they turned to sand-like nothingness.

“This is what we became,” The creature spat in a nauseating, demonic voice, jaw unhinging as it spoke, ramming an eyeball back into place to no avail. “When you deny, and deny, and then you lose them. We wasted away. Wasted time. You’ll be spared this, but your fate is just as empty as mine is.”

The angel finally managed to get free by literally breaking off the arms that were holding him in place and crawling out from beneath the melting lost soul. He couldn’t become this. He couldn’t let Emma Winchester become this either. But did that also mean forcing something that…maybe wasn’t there? Castiel didn’t know a thing about love, about romance or soulmates or…any of this. And yet everything hinged on his ability to understand. To emphasize. Fake Cas lurched forward in a sludge-like movement, grabbing onto his shoes, clawing up his pant leg.

“I tried to make you understand,” It spat, skin bubbling out its mouth. “Find your way back, Castiel. God is on your side, but time is not.”

With nothing more than a pained, suffocating burble, the lost soul dissipated into a puddle of thick, globby, gray-colored pus before disappearing entirely from beneath Cas’ feet. Cas looked wildly around for some indicator of an exit, finding nothing but endless gray landscape, fog, and absolute emptiness around him. If he was still here, and God was truly on his side, there had to be some way out. Stepping forward, Cas put a hand to his soulmark and felt the warmth steadily fading from it. The longer he lingered here, the further he separated from her. Romantic or platonic, it didn’t matter. He needed to get back.

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When she thought about the afterlife, Emma never imagined so much gray. Everything surrounding her a mist of cold, damp air, but nothing to be seen. A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she turned to face a woman, soft features, gentle but reassuring smile, welcoming eyes. Long tufts of brown hair fell in graceful waves over her shoulders, a youthful, yet tired expression plastered across her delicate face.

“Emma Winchester, I’ve been expecting you for a long time.”

“What…? You’re a Reaper…right?”

“Tessa.” She smiled again. “I met your brother Dean not too long ago. You Winchesters demand a lot of my attention.”

“You’re here because I’m…dead?”

Tessa’s smile faded slightly, but her presence still provided unwavering comfort. “Dying, I’m afraid. But the worst is over now. Once I help you pass over, you will be at peace.”

“I’ve heard that word a lot. Peace.” Emma muttered. “It seems everyone that tries to kill me promises me it’ll hurt less at the end. What…did Dean—?”

“—No.” The Reaper reassured her. “He’s alive.”

At least she could find solace in that. She’d somehow managed to save Dean’s life. Maybe someone found him and helped him. Either way…she couldn’t see any reason the Reaper would lie to her when she’d been so forthcoming about Dean’s previous death. She nodded. “Where would you take me?”

Tessa smiled. “Heaven.”

For a fleeting moment, Emma gave into the idea. Resting, no more brotherly drama, no more attacking angels, no more suffering. But through the haze of happiness came the sharp, penetrating reality of Castiel’s death, leaving a void so hollow in her chest that every inhale stuttered. She blinked, feeling tears prodding at the corners of her eyes.

“No. I don’t want to go to Heaven. Take me to the Land of the Dead.”

“Adlivun?” Tessa mused, reeling slightly in surprise. “Heaven would be a much better place for—”

“—The goddess Sedna has something I need to see. And with an angel war going on right now, the further away I am from Heaven, the better.”

Tessa studied her face for a moment, shoulders slinking ever so slightly in resignation. “This strongly goes against everything we could do for you. We could put you to rest. You would find true peace, Emma.”

“You’re the tenth person to promise me peace. If I wanted that, I would have—” Though desperate, she couldn’t bring herself to have any natural bite to her words. “I appreciate what you would do for me,” She added quietly. “But I need answers. And someone needs to put a stop to Jophiel.”

“Stopping her may cost your life.”

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you again.”

“There’s no guarantee…” Tessa continued cautiously. “If you are even successful finding what you’re looking for that come a year’s time, there would be anything left of you for me to retrieve from Adlivun. Your body will live, for a short time, but hardly any soul has come back whole.”

“This is my choice, right?”

Tessa’s tentative smile returned, and her only answer was a curt nod.

“Then please, send me to Adlivun.”

Tessa only hesitated a moment longer before she reached out expectantly for Emma’s hand, and upon touching the Reaper, everything around her faded to black. She lost her foothold and toppled forward, landing on her hands and knees on sticky-wet ground. The air around her was so heavy with musk and humidity that it clung to her skin like a layer of damp towels. She struggled upright again on what appeared to be cave-like grounding, jumping back half a foot at the figure that towered above her. Cloaked, like all demonstrably evil underworld figures would be, the black swaying material more ethereal in appearance than actual fabric. Its face perhaps the most terrifying, a distorted bird-like skull poking out from beneath its hood, two green orbs sitting at the base of what would be eyeholes. The fingers that clutched at a large wood pole were shaped like talons, the nails clacking along the pole as it reached out, smacking the back of Emma’s heels to urge her forward.

Emma moved a tad, finding their destination easily as it was about the only object in the surrounding area. The cave completely consumed itself in black, only the faint droplets of water from overhanging stalactites giving any indication that this place even had a ceiling. At the base of the cave walkway she stood upon sat a wooden rickety rowboat, absolutely nothing of note to distinguish it from an ordinary dinghy. The boat was surrounded by an unnatural green light, and it wasn’t until she stepped inside of it that she realized the light came from souls. Their skeletal hands clawed up the ends of the dinghy, threatening to rock it to one side or the other. Emma froze, but the creature, Anguta she presumed as the Ferryman, whacked her ankles again, forcing her to continue into the boat and sit down as far from the hands as she could manage.

When Anguta joined her, he stood stoic, dipping the pole into the water, but they did not move. For several long moments he stared at her with those unblinking, penetrating eyes.

“What? What are you staring at me like that for?”

Emma was certain that he attempted to say something, but what came out of its mouth was a sound like something from a horror film, a strangled, demonic language said in the most ominous way manageable. She nearly jumped off the boat as a result, but realized then as she clutched at the side of the dinghy that she’d been holding something in a closed fist. Opening it slowly, a silver coin was snatched away before she truly even had the chance to look at it. Only then did Anguta push away from the “dock” and began to row them across a lakebed of corpses. The souls clung to her clothes, to her wrists and arms, trying to pull her one way or the other but never quite finding the strength to completely overhaul her. Perhaps the souls couldn’t pull in someone who wasn’t lost. She knew her destination and she had every intention of getting there, and so with each grasp at her clothing she bit back the urge to panic and simply swatted it back into the lakebed.

They rowed for what felt like an eternity, nothing to see but the souls in the water and the cavern walls, only illuminated by the water. Anguta never spoke again, and when the boat finally came to a halt, she clambered out as quickly as she could without falling in. Still more cave, but directly in front of her was a black veil, small specks of light clinging to the ethereal fabric that paralleled Anguta’s cloak. She extended a tentative hand, brushing her fingers along the veil and it left a sort of vague dampness to her fingertips, like touching dense fog. Anguta “spoke” again, jabbing his pole at the veil in urgency.

“Okay, I get it.” Emma muttered, trying to swallow the fear in her voice. “Go forward. Got it.”

With her time ticking away, Emma stepped through the veil, unable to waste even a second longer dwelling on it.

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“Dean.”

_Whoever the hell that is needs to go away._

“Dean, you need to wake up.”

_Screw you dude, I’m exhausted._

“DEAN!”

The Winchester’s eyes snapped open, regrettably taking in too much light than they were prepared for. With a hiss he shut them again, colorful spots dancing behind his eyelids as he rubbed them furiously with his thumb and forefinger. Trying to recall just where he ended up was a far more daunting task than he would’ve thought, but here was comfortable and warm. Last he remembered, he’d been freezing, dizzy and disoriented, nauseous. None of that still lingered, and so he cautiously opened his eyes again. The light still hurt, but became much less grating than it’d been the first time. Still it took his vision several moments to adjust, blinking a few times, taking in a familiar looking ceiling before stark blue eyes and bushy eyebrows hovered in his line of sight.

“…Cas?” Dean ventured after thirty seconds of deep processing.

The angel’s hardened expression relaxed incrementally. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas…” Dean eased further into the soft bedding beneath him before everything came back to him like a slap across the face. Sam and Em. Cas. Jophiel. The cold. Even Cas. Shooting upright in bed, Dean experienced no pain, examining his arms and torso in confusion. “What the hell happened? You were dead!”

“Yes.” Cas nodded, sitting at the side of the bed. “I believe God is the one who restored me.”

“Restored you?”

“Better than before.” Cas indicated. “I was able to heal all of your life-threatening injuries.”

“And you got us…to Bobby’s?” Dean finally pieced together his surroundings as his old bedroom. “What about Sam? Em? The angels?”

The pain cresting into the angel’s feature gave all the answer Dean needed, his fists clenching, getting up off the bed and starting for the door, only to be held in place by Cas’ grip on his wrist. “Jophiel has been using Sam as her vessel, and Heaven has fallen to pure chaos. Michael’s forces are limited at best, but he will not surrender. Jophiel is too powerful to be stopped. I’m afraid Sam may—”

“Don’t even say it, man.” Dean growled, wrenching his hand free. “I’ve never given up on them and I don’t plan to start now. What the hell happened to Em? We were together. Why didn’t you save her?”

Dean didn’t think it possible for the angel to look any more pained than he had before, but the light almost appeared to leave his eyes. “She passed before I found you.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “That’s impossible. I was deader than dead and you got me back here and fixed up with no problem. There’s no way she—”

“—You were driving recklessly through a blizzard, Dean. With a litany of life-threatening injuries and severe head trauma.” Cas interrupted sharply, blue eyes like sharp daggers. “There was little I—” He stopped again, closing his eyes, exhaling heavily in a vain attempt at reigning in some semblance of control. But Dean had heard the hurt in his voice, and it forced his heartbeat up into his throat. “I did everything I could.”

Dean’s hands immediately reached for his hair, pulling at the short strands, breathing succumbing to short, ragged puffs. “I can’t…not…not without…I’ll—this can’t be it, Cas.” The words spewed out in staggered bursts of desperation, reaching for Cas’ trenchcoat and pulling him closer. “There has to be SOMETHING I can do! I can’t lose them both. Where’s her body? Did you leave it—?”

“No.” Cas managed. “It’s in the other room with—”

Dean was dashing out of the room before Cas could even finish, wrenching the door open carelessly and racing down the familiar short hallway to Emma’s bedroom at the top of the stairs. Without any consideration or hesitation, he threw his shoulder into the wood frame and the door opened with a violent swing that slammed it off the wall behind it. Bobby jumped from his seat beside the bed, an empty beer bottle clattering to the floor beside his boot.

“God dammit, kid. You could’ve knocked.”

On the bed lay the body of his sister, and suddenly Dean wasn’t so certain that he wanted to see her like this. The last of his memories of her had been filled with nothing but pain and disaster, frustration, fear, the harsh words of ‘I want you both gone’ ringing in his ears as though she’d only just spoken them. Despite this, he mechanically walked forward, approaching the bed, staring down at her and anticipating the worst. If she’d truly frozen to death, she certainly didn’t look it. In fact, she appeared to only be sleeping. Her eyes were shut lightly, any traces of injury completely gone, and a lively pink-red flush to her lips and cheeks. He’d seen her half-drowned before and remembered how cold she felt, the blue and purple around her lips, the way she hacked and staggered for every breath. If she’d collapsed in the blizzard as Dean had, she shouldn’t look so at peace.

Cas appeared beside him, and Dean managed to steel his tears back in. “She…looks fine…”

“I told you, I did everything that I could.”

“But she still won’t wake.” Bobby half-grunted, sitting back in his seat and clutching Emma’s lifeless hand in his.

“She’s…still alive?” Dean’s voice sounded strangled even to his own ears. “You said she passed.”

“She has.” Cas replied tersely. “Her body is alive, but her soul is gone.”

“People can live without souls, can’t they?”

“I would not refer to it as living, but…yes, in a way. Void of any and all emotion. The Emma that you know and love would cease to exist.”

“Why is she all comatose and shit then? Shouldn’t she be up and about?”

“I have placed her functions into a stasis of sorts.” The angel explained, though sounding far more exasperated than he had before. “While you were unconscious, I tried to discover where her soul had gone. As far as I can tell, neither Heaven nor Hell has seen her. I believe her soul may be trapped in Adlivun. It’s how she’s still alive.”

“What the hell’s an Adlivun?” Dean demanded.

“It’s the Underworld.” Bobby replied, finally rising from his place at Emma’s beside and joining the other two men in the center of the room. “It’s where lost souls go. Some people turn into ghosts if they’re clingin’ to unfinished business, revenge, that kinda stuff. But souls that are just confused and unsure end up going to Adlivun. They linger there for about a year, and sometimes they can be escorted to Heaven or Hell afterwards if they’ve come to accept their death. But mostly they just sorta fade away. It’s a wasteland.”

“I explained this to you before,” Cas added. “Back when we were in the vehicle.”

“Well excuse my shitty memory, Cas. We were kinda busy since then. So, what the hell do we do?”

“Do?”

“Yeah. How do we get her soul back?”

“Souls that go to Adlivun rarely return. Emma and I had briefly discussed trying to get here there but…she would have been quickly revived. Time moves slowly there. She has already been trapped there for hours. Possibly days. I’m uncertain that we would be able to recover her.”

“There’s a chance though, right?” Dean’s hope renewed.

“I…suppose. Yes. There would be a chance.”

“A chance is all I need. How do we do this?”

“What the hell are you saying?” Bobby demanded. “You think I’m gonna just sit back and let you get yourself killed too, Dean? I already lost two of ya. I’m not losing another one.”

“I’m not gonna die, Bobby. I’m bringing Emma back.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I brought Sam back.”

“You made a god damn deal with a demon!”

“I can still feel the pull of our souls,” Cas added with a murmur, stilling the argument as he lifted his shirt to reveal his silver mark. “The fraction of myself that is also Emma is still connected. I…agree with Dean. There is a chance that she can be rescued.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” Bobby demanded. “What sacrifices have you made?!”

“Bobby—” Dean growled.

“—I died for her.”

“So, do it again!”

“I can’t.” Cas’ eyes flashed angrily at the old hunter. “Adlivun is a place for humans. We are not allowed access to it.”

“How much time could you give me?”

Cas considered for a moment or so, shoulders easing up slightly. “It would be three minutes on this side, which should translate to an hour or two for you there. When all brain activity begins to cease and the body begins to die, it’s far more likely the soul will not be able to return.”

“You can’t seriously be considerin’ this!” Bobby growled.

“It would render Dean’s body unusable for Michael during that time. If we are successful in bringing Emma back, we may still have a chance at stopping this war.”

“My kids ain’t your soldiers!”

“Bobby, enough!” Dean barked, silencing the arguments from both men. “If there’s a chance I can bring Emma back, I’m taking it. I can’t…do this by myself. Sammy’s been taken by that bitch, and I don’t know how we’re gonna do it, but we’re gonna get him back too. I’m not let this end with Emmy and I on the outs.”

“I’m not bein’ a part of this.”

“Fine. Go downstairs and keep watch then.”

“Whatever you say, _John_.”

Bobby stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him and stomping his way down the stairs and into the living room. The comment about John had Dean taking a step toward the door, ready to go and show the old man just how like his Father he could be, but with everything else going on, he instead let out the rage with an annoyed huff. If Dean had Cas’ sense of hearing, he’d of been able to tell the old man was getting himself a drink from the fridge. Thankfully, he didn’t need that kind of supersonic hearing to know. He’d crossed a fine line with Bobby, and when Emma was back he’d find a way to make up for it. He knew the man had only good intentions, couldn’t face the thought of losing another one of his kids. But Dean failed the twins, and he was damn determined to fix it.

He turned expectantly to the angel. “Tell me what to do.”

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Michael barely managed to recover from the attack on Jophiel’s human imprisonment, and with the few remaining soldiers he had left at his disposal, his odds were looking grimmer by the passing moment. Despite the monumental loss of his soldiers, he’d managed to catch his sister entirely off guard and utterly ruin her chances at a continued upper hand. Not that it would matter for much longer. With both of their armies struggling to recover, Jophiel with a functioning vessel had no more intentions of fighting with pawns. She intended to meet Michael face to face. Michael sent his third in command (it was far too dangerous to risk sending Raphael), to meet with Javier, Jophiel’s second in command demon. The time and location was agreed upon. Michael needed Dean Winchester now more than ever to say yes, but unfortunately, the damn human was already back under cover and out of his sight.

It didn’t take much thinking to know where he was hiding, but the run-down house in the center of a junkyard had been effectively warded against angels, Michael included. He was running out of options. Sam Winchester’s body was currently occupied, Dean’s in hiding, Adam deceased, John in Hell, and even Emma seemed to be beyond his ability to search for. He could sense their souls, even if they couldn’t be pinpointed, but the thread of the girl’s life seemed to be entirely missing. If she’d gone to Hell, Jophiel would have her. Heaven, Raphael would have reported it. Which could only mean the girl had passed…perhaps on to Adlivun. How could she know to go there, though? How could this human possibly figure out what Michael himself had kept from all Heavenly Hosts for centuries?

 _Another traitor in the midst_ Michael’s thoughts unhelpfully supplied. _It would only take one._

“Your Grace,” Raphael interrupted his thoughts, Michael’s gaze shifting to him with disinterest. “We’ve managed to locate Adam Winchester’s body, and have had it restored. You should be safe to use it for your needs.”

“Thank you.” Michael replied flatly. “Have we made contact with the Reaper?”

“Yes. Tessa has confirmed that the Winchester girl is in Adlivun.”

“Then she knows. Or she knows that there is something there of hers to retrieve. If she manages to return with all the memories—”

“—Hardly any return from Adlivun.” Raphael interrupted, arms folding behind his back, staring down his weary brother with a look of certainty. “And even if she should return, there’s no reason Sedna would give her everything that is not hers. The memories will still be lost.”

It’s not the memories I worry about Michael groused to himself, pushing up from his seat and clapping a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I will be taking Adam Winchester and making a quick trip to Earth.”

“Is that wise, brother?” Concern heavily laced Raphael’s voice.

“We are at a standstill until my meeting with Jophiel two days from now. And I need a word with Dean Winchester.”

Raphael opened his mouth to protest again, but elected against it. Michael’s efforts turned borderline desperate now, and Raphael was not the only one to be questioning their brother’s leadership abilities. Should Michael go to Earth and something happen, perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst outcome. Their numbers so greatly diminished it felt as though they’d been halved, so few remaining angels that Heaven felt barren. They needed to restore themselves, strengthen their numbers, prepare for what still would be another battle against Lucifer instead of wasting all their forces on Jophiel.

However, Raphael said nothing, merely nodding once and watching Michael disappear from the war room.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“So you said these things are…like soulmarks?” Dean ventured as he dumped another bag of ice into Bobby’s old as hell bathtub. Cas had been oddly quiet since they began filling it with water and ice, and the silence surrounding his impending ‘death’ began to grate on every one of his nerves.

“That is my very limited understanding, and the information came from Jophiel. I am unsure how trustworthy it may be. The remainder of the answers lie in Adlivun. But to my understanding, we are two halves of a whole soul.”

“What does that mean, then? Because when I think of soulmates, I just think of all that romantic comedy garbage and true love…”

Cas froze immediately, head lifting to look over at Dean. “Sometimes it is a platonic connection.”

“But you don’t think it is? You have the hots for my sister?”

“What does temperature have to do with it?”

“No,” Dean chuckled. “No, it means like…you like her.”

Cas shrugged. “She is a very complex human, but her presence is enjoyable.”

“No, no. I mean you…like, like her.”

Cas lifted a brow. “I’m not understanding how repeating the word—”

“—I mean you’re in love with her, man.”

Dean waited for a reaction, and the flush of red that crept up Castiel’s neck and deepened the pale around his ears was more than enough answer that had Dean grinning like an idiot.

“This…is hardly a topic of conversation for the moment.”

“You’re in love with my sister.”

“I don’t experience ‘love’.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t learn what it feels like now.”

“Dean.” Cas interrupted with a dry glare. “Please.”

“Right, sorry. But you’re not getting out of this one. I don’t just let anyone try to get with my sister so we’re definitely talking about this later.” The eldest Winchester shed his button down, t-shirt, and jeans, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers and the amulet Sammy had given him for Christmas. “So, when I find her, how do I bring her back?”

“Your best chances are to hold onto her when I revive you.” Cas explained as he finished with the last bag of ice, his composure coming back together again. “When your soul is pulled back into your body, we should then be able to pull her here and her soul can reunite with her own body.”

“That doesn’t sound really concrete, dude.” Dean retorted.

“It’s the only knowledge I have. It is not as though there’s a history of successful retrievals from Adlivun. Either way, I will be sure to bring you back. You…do not have to do this, Dean.”

“I do.” He placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what to do, and neither do you. But if Emma got those memories back, maybe she’d know. Even if she doesn’t, I’m not leaving her behind. I’m supposed to look out for her, god dammit. And I screwed it all up.”

“You didn’t ‘screw’ anything up, Dean.” Cas replied, his hand going to Dean’s shoulder as well. “Jophiel is far more powerful than either of us could’ve imagined, and she used us, and used Emma. For as strong as Sam is, he never could’ve fought against her.”

“I did.”

“Sam…is not a righteous man. Why do you think you are the vessel of Michael?” Cas held Dean’s gaze sternly. “You are the elder brother. The leader. The protector. When you went to Hell, I was not the only one who tried to aid in your resurrection. Your soul did not belong there.”

“I’m not…” Dean could feel his pathetic excuse for self-worth fighting to gain foothold at the surface, only to be smothered down by his self-loathing. Cas squeezed his shoulder again.

“You are, Dean. That is how you could break free from Jophiel’s possession. And it is how you’ll reason with the goddess of the underworld to retrieve your sister’s soul.”

All Dean could do was nod, his self-pitying masochism far too deeply ingrained for him to try and vocally protest against Castiel’s words. They’d just go into an endless circle of reassurances versus denial, and every second that he stood here was another second they came closer to losing Emma for good. Stepping over the ledge of the ice bath, Cas shut the bathroom door behind him and removed his trenchcoat, rolling up his shirt sleeves as Dean got himself situated into the ice bath. Out of anything, he hadn’t been looking forward to the cold once again, but Cas insisted this was the safest way to ensure no further damage would be done to his body. They’d discussed at length the right way to do it, and though reluctant to admit it, drowning did pose the least amount of irreparable damage.

Though now that Cas could heal, what really qualified as irreparable?

Kneeling at the side of the tub, Cas’ eyes raked over to the burned hand-mark on Dean’s shoulder from when he’d physically pulled him out of Hell. With any luck, this wouldn’t leave yet another scar on the hunter’s body. The pull of his bond with Emma hurt more and more as the moments passed on, as though every second that she was missing meant she was further out of reach. He wanted nothing more than to not dwell on it, but the ache that it caused was more than his own death had wrought.

Dean’s breath hitched every so often as his muscles tensed against the lap of cold water on his most sensitive areas. “I’m ready, Cas.”

“Alright,” The angel leaned closer, hands braced on Dean’s shoulders. “It would be easiest to exhale all of your air at once, so we do not prolong this.”

“Got it. I’ll try. Just…I’ll probably fight back. Not on purpose, but it’s how the body reacts and stuff. So, don’t let me up, no matter what. Got it?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Without further hesitation, the angel pushed and eased Dean beneath the surface, the ice sliding back in place with a slick sluice. Cas could keep Dean submerged with next to no effort, pinning the hunter down to the very bottom. The tub, however, was fairly shallow, but allowed it to completely cover Dean’s body and only lightly lapping over the porcelain edges. As instructed, Dean’s air expelled in a series of bubbles popping at the surface, but the effect lasted seconds at most. The hunter must’ve exhaled before Cas pushed him under, as already Cas could sense the strain in his lungs. He understood that it would be difficult to just inhale – the human body fought to survive under any circumstances. Knowing what he was doing beforehand wouldn’t override the need to survive.

As predicted, Dean began to struggle, small fidgeting motions at first that he tried to keep together, but quickly turning desperate. He gripped at Cas’ wrist and tried to pry his hands from his shoulders, head jerking upwards and almost successfully broaching the surface before Cas slammed him back down with enough force to make the hunter bubble again. Dean fought in earnest now, legs kicking wildly against the end of the tub with frantic thumps, hands grappling out of the water to pull on Cas’ shirt, his hair, swinging fingernails around to claw at his face. Cas held steady, detaching himself from the moment as much as he was physically able to. The Winchesters left a deep impression on him, and even now with their plan laid out as imperfectly as possible, he couldn’t bring himself to even do temporary harm. With renewed effort he leaned forward more, getting a better grip on Dean who’d almost managed to slip free from his grasp and surface for the second time. Now the hunter was truly pinned, and the mounting panic only increased until Cas heard that reflexive gasp for air.

Dean’s body went into seizures, spasming and twisting, fighting and choking, water sloshing over the ledge of the tub and soaking Cas’ pants. In truth he was disgusted with the way they’d chosen to kill Dean, but any sense of wavering confidence might have made the hunter displace his trust. All he could picture was Emma. That damnable glass prison. The sight of someone drowning became a painful recollection of those moments Castiel nearly failed. He could not afford to fail again. Dean’s violent retaliation began to subside, his body succumbing to miniscule twitches and shakes, green eyes transfixed at the stilling surface and mouth parted wide, filled impossibly full with the ice water, Cas waited only a few seconds more before bringing his head back above the surface, then lifting his body free from the water. He examined the way and made note of the time. 9:57PM was when Dean had officially gone still.

The angel made quick work of drying off the hunter’s body and pulling him back into his clothing, carrying him to Emma’s bedroom and laying his body directly beside his sister’s. With any luck, when Dean was revived, Emma would follow almost immediately afterwards. He examined his watch again – 9:59PM. In a moment he would reach into Dean’s chest and expel the water from his body, clear from his lungs and any other pulmonary tissues that may have flooded as a result. Whether Emma was with him or not, he would have to be revived. Cas gingerly lifted Dean’s lifeless, cold hand, placing it atop Emma’s and interlocking their fingers. He gazed into the hunter’s faces, the last of Dean’s seconds ticking away on his watch.

“Don’t let go.” He cautioned the lifeless Winchesters. “No matter what, don’t let go.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m starting to think you like seeing me,” Tess murmured affectionately, draping her arms around Dean’s shoulders. “But something tells me this isn’t a friendly visit.”

One moment he’d be fighting for his life beneath the tub water, and the next Dean was staring into the gentle eyes of the reaper that’d tried taking him the last time.

“Afraid not.” Dean replied, pulling her arms away. “My sister. You take her?”

“I was trying to bring her to Heaven. But she’s a lot like you. Had her own plans for her fate.”

“I need you to send me in her direction.”

Tess sighed, hands going to her hips first, then crossing over her chest. “You know, you Winchesters make it awful difficult for me to just do my job. Someday you’re going to die and it won’t be me you have to convince.”

“C’mon Tess.” Dean flashed her a sweet smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. I’m not in the practice of taking orders from souls.” She pressed a rounded object into his palm and extended her hand to his forehead. “I hope you find your way back, Dean. Adlivun is not a place anyone should willingly go.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cas had described Adlivun as a desert, and yet Emma still found herself caught off guard from the stark contrast of the cave the Adlivun. Like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story, barren trees with black branches hyperextended across the plain, sand still, no air, no wind, no…anything. Besides the trees, a few rocks, some stray branches that’d fallen, The Land of the Dead was the most apt of a description for it. Every careful footstep created ripples in the sand beneath her shoe, like walking on the surface of a puddle. The longer she stayed there, the more she understood how souls could just get lost here. The emptiness, the stillness, the silence all played a major role in creating an aura of unease, unwelcome. The environment was trying to convey that no soul should ever willingly be here.

She wished for some form of illumination instead of being stuck at what appeared to be overcast dusk, where anything that could have color effectively became greyscale. She rubbed her bare arms and moved on, stepping around broken, char-black twigs, surveying the scene with concern. She couldn’t find anything. No indication of other meandering souls, no goddess, no…anything. When she took another step forward, a ghostly hand clutched at her pant leg, nearly tripping her up if she hadn’t had the sense to hop back. The gaunt, lifeless poltergeist moaned in frustration, trying to claw at the glass-like sandy surface to reach her further. Emma backed away further, picking up one of the broken branches and swatting at the specter’s hands. It fell back into the sand with an angry hiss, the surface bubbling and shifting back into place in a matter of seconds.

Now that she actively looked-for things amiss, the dust-like, sandy ground clung to her clothing and her skin, reeking of death and decay. Scattered amongst the black twigs were what could only be human remains, skeletal fingers poking out of the glassy surface, skulls with missing eyeholes and unhinged jaws strewn beneath her feet that made sickening crunches with every step she took. How could anyone, even lost souls, want to come willingly to such a wasteland of decay and hopelessness? Maybe in some sick way it paled in comparison to eternity in Hell, but having experienced crushing loneliness and emptiness the last near-decade of her life, this was Hell for Emma. Another specter clutched at her pant leg, clawing its way up through the sandy surface and moaning. Its skin stretched tightly across its skull, eyeballs sunken deep into the sockets, skin gray, missing teeth, jaw hanging two or three inches below where it would meet the other, and hands like talons as it shredded through her pant leg with little to no effort.

Emma pried it free from her leg and stomped on the skull repeatedly until a sickening crunch and subsequent splut followed, gray and goo-like pus flooding from the receding hairline and parceling into her last remaining shoe. With a disgusted scream Emma gripped the heel of her shoe and flung it off into the distance, not using nearly as much strength to obtain the distance with which it flew into the abyss and disappeared. Shaking out the remaining gloop from her pant leg, Emma started tentatively across the sand again. It was impossible to tell where she was going and how far she’d come. The black veil that’d granted her access to such an abysmal plain utterly vanished, leaving nothing in its wake save for the aforementioned trees and grainy nothingness.

She opened her mouth to speak; perhaps calling the goddess would get her attention. But the moment she opened her mouth, the sound died before it could escape the back of her throat. _Figures_ she thought to herself. _Land of the Dead. And the dead don’t speak._

_Nor do they approach Gods with such ease._

Emma startled back as another cloaked figure appeared before her, though starkly different in comparison to Angunta’s appearance. No beak or talons poked out from beneath the gently billowing cloak, still astounding given the lack of wind. Instead the goddess remained hidden within her blanketed darkness, elegant fingers adorned with simple silver and gold bands twisted around a pole that had a crooked top, floating around Emma like a ghost. Two violet orbs peered through her, and Emma dug up the courage to hold her ground.

_You can hear my thoughts?_

_I feel this is evident. Why are you here, Emma Winchester? You are not lost._

_I was told you have something that might belong to me. Something that might help me remember, and stop Jophiel._

Sedna didn’t respond for several moments. The echo of her last words still ringing in her ears as though the goddess had practically screamed in her ear. The sound would be deafening perhaps if she were lost.

_Yes. I have what you seek. There are some secrets best left locked away. You have no need for this. Return to the Reaper, find your solace in Heaven._

_There won’t be a Heaven if Jophiel gets her way. Emma stepped forward boldly. There’s going to be even more souls here if I can’t stop her._

_Meddle not in the affairs of Gods._

_Meddling means there’s a chance to put a stop to all of this. And if what you have can help me, it’s worth the risk._

_You are not the first to come here to try and claim it._ Sedna replied with a hiss that lingered like the rattle of a snake. _I have seen into the hearts of those that wish to cause more destruction by promising an end. You are just like the rest of them._

 _All I have are my brothers, and this—_ She lifted her shirt partially to reveal the ingrained mark in her side.

The goddess stilled immediately. _You are a Marked?_

_Yeah. I’m told it might give me what I need to stop Jophiel, along with whatever it is you have that is mine._

The end of Sedna’s staff moved under her chin and Emma froze, not wanting to further agitate the goddess. Sedna moved closer, examining the mark, running her cold as death fingers around and over it. _Your Marked still lives?_

_No, he…he was killed._

_He lives._ Sedna reaffirmed, moving her hands away and pulling her staff back to her side. _This land is full of the Marked who were unable to find each other again. Broken souls who withered away to nothingness, unable to become whole again._

 _Is that what those…things are?_ Emma asked without looking back at the sludge pile she’d curb-stomped. _Marked who didn’t find their soulmates?_

 _Lost souls, yes._ Sedna confirmed. _They sensed that you are one. They will do anything to become whole, even if it means taking what does not belong to them. Leave this place, Emma Winchester. Find your Marked and live. Do not meddle in angelic affairs or wars. You have a gift, and you will waste away just as these souls have if you do not return._

_Not without what you have for me. Memories? Is that it? From my past life?_

_Leave, child._

_No! Tell me what—_

Emma’s sentence cut short as the ground fell apart beneath her feet, unpaired souls gaunt and ghostly clinging to her legs and dragging her incrementally into the sand. Emma twisted violently against their hold, clawing at the ground to try and hoist herself out of the hole. But the souls pulled down harder and with a violent jerk she sank up to her hips.

_I warned you to leave. There is no more I can do for you now._

_EMMA!_

Emma’s head snapped in the direction of an all too familiar voice, Dean suddenly coming in fast and skirting to a stop just beside the sinkhole she’d been trapped into. Her brother dropped to his knees and gripped her forearms, tugging with all his strength only to find the souls tugging down harder, clawing up her hips, nails digging into her chest as she sank further into the mess.

 _Dean Winchester…_ Sedna hissed distastefully. _You are not dead._

 _Let her out!_ Dean commanded, seeming to have picked up on the non-verbal cues pretty quickly. _I’m taking her back! Just let her out!_

_She belongs to the souls, now. There is nothing more we can do for her._

_She belongs to me! She’s my sister and she’s not dead!_

_Dean!_

Her brother’s attention returned to her as the sand clawed at her neck, and Dean boldly reached down into the pit and managed to wiggle his grip under her armpits, one foot rooted on either side of the sinkhole as he pulled with all his strength. Sedna merely watched, amethyst eyes staring with a head tilt reminiscent of Castiel’s muted look of confusion.

_She is lost. If you do not move away, you will be too._

_Then I guess I’m goin’! Emmy, you hold on, you got me?_

_Dean get out of here! Go before you get pulled in!_ The lost souls gripped her like a vice, a strength that should be unheard of for nothing but wilting spirts, and yet they clutched onto her like a lifeline. _Dean, I can’t--_

_Don’t you dare give me that “I can’t” bullshit. Hold on god dammit._

Sedna approached then, her staff lightly prodding at the sand slowly sucking the eldest Winchester down with it too. Despite all of Dean’s strength, it wouldn’t outmatch a god. His only hope had been to hold out until –

Lightning filled the sky in a shocking display in the abysmal prison. Sedna looked upwards in surprise, her hood falling back off her head, revealing nothing but two floating violet eyes and nothing else. No head, no expressions, and yet her eyes were perfectly readable. The sand came up to Emma’s chin, Dean’s knees quickly going under with it as he too felt the creatures pulling. She couldn’t wriggle any more from the desperate specters pulling them both under. She’d managed to save Dean once, only to have his idiot ass get pulled into a pit of nothingness with her. Sedna turned away from the lightning display to stare at the siblings sinking further into the chasm.

_You would die with her? Your soul would be left to rot here for all eternity. You would become nothing. Be a part of nothing._

_All the more reason to hang the fuck on._ Dean growled. _C’mon, Cas. Get us out of here!_

As though the ground completely disappeared beneath them, Emma and Dean fell completely underneath the sand, the surface sheathing back over with a thin layer of glassy surface that had the goddess staring in confusion. Both had gone. Despite her warnings to the brother that he would die as well, he went willingly, with no fear or uncertainty to waver his decision. Even though it meant death for them both. Worse than death. Sedna pulled a vial from her cloak pocket, considering the events the smoothed glassy surface.

Perhaps these two may truly put an end to this.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean came back to life with such a vicious start that Cas physically leapt back away from the bed, returning to his side just as quickly to carefully move Dean onto his side and help him regain his breathing as best he possibly could. The Winchester rasped for every breath, hacking and coughing, leaning over the side and vomiting a mouthful of nothing but bile and saliva. Certainly not the lungful of water he’d ingested previously. Cas helped him upright when he was able, hammering on his back and looking Dean over with concern.

“Dean? Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Cas.” Dean coughed into his sleeve. “Thanks for fixing me up.”

“Were you—?”

 _The sand, the goddess just standing there watching them, suffocating under all that mess, souls clawing at their legs._ Dean remembered holding on as long as he physically could, until consciousness faded and all that remained was the sensation of sand between his fingers, in his lungs, until he woke up here. Despite all the hacking and retching, Dean managed to hold onto his sister, their fingers intricately wound together on the bed. He rolled back onto his side carefully, prying at his sister’s eyelids, searching for a flicker of life. Cas waited to the side, unable to offer anything in all his newfound power to bring her back if she had not managed to locate her own body. It would be up to Emma now to get back to herself.

And just like that, she came to, gasping the same way Dean had, chest lurching upwards, eyes rolling up into her head, body twisting beneath Dean’s hold as he half-gasped, half-cried with relief, grabbing her none too gently and pulling her into a fierce embrace. Castiel’s vessel visibly relaxed, feeling something in his eyes, blurring his vision. He touched at the corner of his eye and stared at the tears on the tips of his fingers.

“De—” Emma coughed again. “De’n you—you’re crushing m—”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean muttered and released her carefully back against the bed, Emma’s head meeting pillows and Dean stroking a hand down her face. “Hey baby girl.”

“Not three anymore.” Emma grunted. “What…happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us.” Cas cautiously approached the side of the bed.

Emma lifted her head some again, taking in the sight of the angel, uninjured, alive, looking better than ever compared to her last memories of his broken and beaten body. She sat up slowly, Dean’s hand at her back to help guide her upright and onto her feet. The warmth flooding back to her mark was like a breath of fresh air, like being cocooned in a blanket fresh from the dryer. Nothing felt more comfortable than this. She stared open-mouthed, raising an unsteady hand to gently touch Cas’ jaw, reassure herself that he was really there.

“Cas, I…you died…”

“I believe God may have restored me.” Cas replied softly, looking anywhere but her face, turning his head away to avoid her touch. “I came to you as soon as I could. I…feared it may not have been—”

Emma’s fingers danced across the back of Cas’ clenching hand, and the angel stopped speaking at once, the silver light returning around them. Before the pull of it could take either of them in, before they could really dwell, Dean’s voice broke through the haze.

“Em? What’ve you got?”

“Hm?” She hadn’t realized that her left hand remained tightly clamped around something. Though now that she registered it, her fingers were beginning to cramp. Prying the sore digits apart, she could fully see the vial of blue sitting in her palm. The blue light reminded her so much of Castiel’s eyes, his power, shining and shimmering in the vial, swirling about in twisted, wispy circles.

When she looked back up, Castiel had taken several steps back. His eyes were narrowed, and an angel blade appeared in his palm, only the tip really visible from where his trenchcoat sleeve covered the hilt. Dean was up and off the bed in a second, standing beside Emma, an arm defensively thrown out.

“Cas…”

“You’re a Nephilim.” Cas practically growled.

“A…what?”

“A Nephilim.” A third voice interrupted from the doorway, a young man standing with his arms folded behind his back, watching them. “A human-angel hybrid. And one that I intended to keep hidden away for as long as I could.”

It occurred to Emma only just then that the fixed glare Castiel had plastered across his face wasn’t solely reserved for her, and it helped soothe away the pang in her chest at the thought that the angel was ready to kill her. All turned to face the young man in the corner, but it was Dean that spoke out, his back not wholly turned away from Cas in case he did decide to strike.

“Adam?”

“Michael.” Castiel corrected sharply.

“Put that away, Castiel.” Michael’s eyes didn’t leave Emma or Dean’s direction. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little on edge. You sent Zachariah to kill me and this house is warded—”

“—Not warded well.” The archangel interrupted, raising a hand.

A ball of white-blue light collected in his palm and before either Winchester could protest, Michael blasted Castiel into the wall behind him, the light appearing to hold the angel in place and effectively silence him, pinning him to the wall and forcing the angel blade to fall to the ground with a clatter. Michael sighed, lowering his hand.

“I’m sure you’re both very confused—”

“—You’re damn right. How the hell did you get Adam’s body?”

“Who is Adam?” Emma pulled at her brother’s arm. “You know this vessel…kid…person?”

“Uh…about that…”

“Later.” Michael interrupted again, stepping closer to the pair. Dean grabbed Emma’s arm and forcefully shoved her behind him again, much to the youngest’s annoyance. Michael’s eyes flickered in her direction, then back to Dean. “I’m not here to harm you.”

“No, just to try and force me to be your stupid vessel, right? Not happening. And if you put a single hand or blast of angel voodoo on my sister I’ll stab you in the face. If you’re not here for that then what the hell are you here for?”

“To ask for your help.”

Dean froze, his hand tightening on Emma’s wrist until she almost violently tore her hand free to stand by his side. If they were going to have to fight the archangel, they’d do it together, and not with Emma cowering behind him like she was four years old all over again. In her left, she still clenched the small vial, as if nothing were more important in that moment than protecting this…thing. It resembled the white-blue light from the angels, and Emma held it up slightly for all to see.

“You said I’m a Nephilim? What the hell is that?”

“As I mentioned before we were interrupted,” Castiel grunted from behind them as Michael stepped closer. “A human-angel hybrid. Angels are forbidden from mating with humans for this exact reason, and it’s a crime punishable by death of the parents and the child.”

“And this is…what? My Grace?” Emma secured the vial back into her palm as Michael came within arm’s reach.

“Yes. I had it extracted shortly after you were conceived. It was never our intention for you to ever possess it. You see, the power of a Nephilim is…extraordinary. Far more powerful than that of the angel or archangel who conceived the child. This was locked away for…emergency purposes.”

An obvious shift in Michael occurred, and Emma took a step further back, then retreated to the wall where Castiel was pinned. The archangel stared back at them as Emma tried to pry Cas’ arms away from the walls with no luck. Dean kept his distance, stance prepared to fight. He must’ve noticed it too.

“You’re not taking this back.” Emma huffed, giving up on trying to free Cas. “And if you want us to hear you out and not banish you from this house and fix our warding problem, you’ll let Cas down. Now.”

“Banishing me would banish him as well.”

“We’ll take our chances. Let him down.”

Michael considered for another moment, but whatever the archangel came to them for must have been more important than anything else. Cas fell away from the wall and muttered something incoherent under his breath as he straightened up, fingers brushing along the angel blade. Emma jumped back a step, but the angel left the blade as it was on the ground and returned to his full height, putting some space between them. Biting back the twinge of pain in her chest, she still felt comforted by the thought that Cas could at least come to their defense if things with Michael continued to sour. Though with the way the angel looked at her now, she wasn’t sure if he would still be on their side.

“I heard your prayer.” Michael spoke again. “Back in the cabin. We came to your aid, and I lost many, many more of my soldiers because of it. You said you would do anything if I saved your brothers.”

“—Yeah well, you did great work rescuin’ Sammy.” Dean added with a scowl.

“He was taken by Jophiel, there was nothing more we could do for him. But I believe if we work collectively, we may be able to finish her. I cannot allow this war to continue. Jophiel has dwindled my forces down to nothing, and with Lucifer free to roam the earth, I am unable to stop both in tandem. This must stop.”

“Look, we all agree that bitch is a nightmare.” Dean continued. “But what’s in this for us? We agree to help you, and then what? You leave us alone for good? Stop trying to get me to be your damn vessel? It’s looking a hell of a lot like we’re holding all the cards right now.”

“Even if you restored your Grace,” Michael all but ignored Dean. “There’s no guarantee you would have enough strength built to stop Jophiel on your own. You still need my help to put an end to this. And I need Jophiel trapped, and alone.”

“You sired a Nephilim.” Cas finally spoke, his gravelly voice cutting through the conversation with enough ease to make them all start. “You’re a hypocrite. Is there no true order in Heaven anymore?”

“This is war, Castiel.” Michael’s expression hardened. “We do what we must to ensure that order. I am the leader in Heaven. And I did what I had to so that Jophiel and Lucifer could be put in their place. None would know if this hadn’t been stolen.” With that Michael was in Emma’s personal space once more, cornering her to the wall. “You could give that vial to me, and I would take care of Jophiel on my own.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Dean returned, forcibly putting distance between them and stepping in front of Emma once more. “Cas did you just say he—?”

“—Sired her, yes.”

Dean grabbed the front of Michael’s jacket and slammed him up against the wall with enough force to rattle a painting off and onto the floor. “Did you fuck my Mother you son of a bitch?!”

Michael surely had the strength to throw Dean off of him, but instead the archangel sighed. “In possession of John Winchester’s body—”

“—YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“Dean.” Cas’ hand went to the Winchester’s extended fist before it could make solid contact. “You’ll only injure yourself.”

“You are all incredibly fortunate that I am in need of your assistance. I am the leader of Heaven,” Michael pried Dean’s fingers carelessly off his shirt, eyes flashing blue in warning. “No one was meant to know about the Nephilim. It’s unfortunate the situation has come to this, but if we do not stop Jophiel, my actions will not matter any longer. Jophiel does not intend to stop with me. Or Heaven. She looks to find our Father and kill him.”

“God?” Dean flexed his sore fingers. “She’s planning on killing God? Can she even do that?”

“I no longer know what my sister is capable of. She’s morphed into something I could have never anticipated. She’s been consuming virgin souls to enhance her power, and with her ability to compel, I don’t know if Father would even be able to resist. If she could find him.”

Emma stood silent throughout the argument among the three men, holding onto the vial, knowing with unwavering certainty that this belonged to her. Whether or not Michael sired her was true, the Grace she held in hand longed to be reconnected with her body. She had a million and one questions, wanted to know how much more of a walking cliché she could become: a Marked and a Nephilim, both rare, unheard of, and also a designated vessel for God’s first daughter. The vial was so warm, the Grace inside spinning and swirling a hypnotizing blue essence. Her fingers closed tighter around the vial; it would be easy to break the glass, take it back in. It would give her the power to save Sam. But what was the alternative? A slave to Heaven? Forever in Michael’s debt, forced to obey? After all, this made him her father, didn’t it?

No…John Winchester, for as much of an ass as he was, that was her father. Sam and Dean her brothers. There would be no telling what would become of them if she consumed her Grace. No matter what, Sam needed their help. She couldn’t allow Jophiel to continue to use her older brother like a puppet while he was trapped inside, unable to free himself the way Dean had from the archangel’s possession. And if they refused to work with Michael, all they had were this little vial of Grace and the hope that it would be enough. Michael said himself that they’d be far more powerful, but surely that couldn’t be immediate? It would take time. Cas mentioned that Grace tends to recharge and build, and with a quarter of a lifetime separated from it and no experience with it, there were no guarantees that she’d be able to control it. No telling what she could become.

“Emmy.”

Dean’s hands were on her wrists and Emma blinked, coming out of her haze slowly, though head still feeling heavier than she last remembered. He freed a hand to brush her hair back out of her face. “Hey. We’ll find another way to rescue Sammy. I promise.”

“There is no other way.” Michael snapped from behind him. “These are not the roles that were supposed to be filled. We either work together to stop Jophiel, or this planet, your family, they’re all dead.”

“Heard you the first damn time,” Dean growled under his breath, his touch soft on his sister. “Listen to me. We don’t need this mojo to figure this out. I don’t give a damn who sired you. You’re my little sister. I’m not gonna let you get hurt anymore.”

“…We have to.” Em finally replied, closing her fingers gently around the vial. “For Sam.”

“That’s just the dumbass angel getting into your head… No offense, Cas.”

“If I do this,” Emma stepped away from her brother’s restraining hands and approached the archangel, awkwardly towering above him. “I want your word that my brothers and Castiel are going to be left alone from this point on. No more of your angel bullshit. I don’t care what wars or crisis you think you need your vessel for, my brothers are off limits. And you’ll call off your stupid hunt on Cas.”

The archangel squared his shoulders slightly, sizing the Winchester up. “And should Dean choose to fulfill his role of his own free will?”

“He won’t. And you’re not going to kidnap and torture my family to try and get a ‘yes’ out of any of us. We are done with angels after this.”

“I want the Grace.” Michael countered. “When this is done, you will allow me to take your Grace back home with me, as it should have been all along.”

“Emma…” Castiel’s tone finally softened towards her, his trenchcoat visible in her peripheral though she refused to break eye contact with Michael. “You shouldn’t—”

Emma ignored him, sticking out her hand to the archangel. “Deal, then?”

Michael stared down at her hand, then extended his own and they shook in the center. “Agreed. If you will all take a moment to listen, I will explain to you my plan. I would like to have this enacted tomorrow at the very latest. So please listen closely.”

Within the hour, Michael was gone, and they had a haphazard, circumstantial-at-best sort of plan in place that Dean so aptly dubbed “the dumbest fucking plan he’d ever heard of in his entire god damn life”. Considering their circumstances, it was about the best that any of them would be able to come up with, and from the urgency Michael stressed as Heaven continued to lose more soldiers and the angelic hosts would soon follow, they didn’t exactly have the time to try and come up with another one. Though they mutually agreed at the end, not a one of them was entirely pleased with the agenda as a whole. Michael opened the conversation to suggestions, but neither Cas nor Dean, or Emma herself, had been able to find a solution that would completely plug up one of the gaping holes in the plan. At worst, Michael had a few soldiers left that might by the time for an escape. But even that seemed to be an uncertainty.

Dean and Bobby were in the living room drinking heavily as Dean relayed all the information back to the older hunter, who’d taken it about as well as the rest of them, and of course turned to drink in times of desperation. Rather than joining them like she wanted to, Emma went outside (after promising many, many times she wouldn’t leave the vicinity of the junkyard) and sat on top of one of the old cars, the vial of Grace tucked safely away in her pocket, warming her side much like her little silver soulmark did whenever Castiel seemed to get closer. She hadn’t seen the angel since Michael left, having muttered something about a ‘thing’ he needed to do before he’d vanished.

Now that he’d returned, however, the mark warmed her at her core and she sighed, not turning to face him. “Did you get to do that ‘thing’?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

Cas made no attempt to approach her and she gave no indication over whether or not she even wanted him to approach. The look in his eyes when she found out about the Grace still bored into the back of her skull with enough force to send a chill up her spine. He could plunge the angel blade in right now and no one could do a thing about it, but he didn’t feel angry. He knew how she felt at times, but it was harder to know what Cas felt. She supposed it was because he was a lot better at keeping everything in check. Especially if he hadn’t actually experienced emotions for however many centuries he’d been alive.

So maybe he was planning on stabbing her in the head.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Cas spoke up again, voice quiet, albeit reassuring.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Emma replied irritably. “You read minds too?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“It is a new skill. Though I have always been able to hear thoughts and prayers.”

“So not all that new, then. Just a lot more invasive.” She turned around on the hood of the car, legs folded beneath her. “You thought about killing me, didn’t you? When you saw the Grace?”

“Yes.”

The one-word responses were grating, but she bit back the desire to call him out on it. “Why?”

“Nephilim are abominations. There have only been a handful or two in existence, and their power is…unnatural. Unheard of.”

“Seems like there tends to be a lot of those. Including you and I.” She hopped down from the roof of the car, but didn’t dare get closer to the angel while she still couldn’t sense his intentions. “Last of some Marked race of soulmates with superior powers—”

“—Only when they are Paired.”

“Yeah, well…you came back, buddy. And it can’t be just for my award-winning personality. So either you’re here to kill me—”

“—I told you, I’m not.”

“—Or you’re here because you can’t stay away from me.”

The angel’s expression remained blank as ever, though Emma could’ve sworn she saw a glimmer of resignation in his eyes.

“Tomorrow’s plan doesn’t involve you. There’s no reason for you to be there.”

“You might need my assistance.”

“You could be killed again.”

“If that is the case, I’m sure my death will have been worth it in the end.”

“That’s a shitty way of thinking.” Emma muttered, scuffing at the ground with her shoe. “You’re not some sacrificial lamb, Cas. You’re important to us. To…me. I guess.” They fell quiet for another moment or so before Emma spoke up again. “That kiss we uh…when we kissed before, I—”

“—There’s no reason to dwell on it.” Cas interrupted sharply. “We did as we were told.”

The knot in her chest tightened, her body ever so slightly recoiling at the retort delivered with such conviction, no hesitation. She swallowed around the words that threatened to come up next, to say _it’s not the first time I’ve thought about kissing you_. She knew better. Cas told her before that angels didn’t…feel things. _Not innately_ , her brain supplied unhelpfully.

“I know what you are thinking. About the kiss, about our marks, but I am an angel of the Lord. That is my first and foremost responsibility. I understand as a human that you may have developed other feelings, or may view these marks as a romantic link—”

“—I don’t view them as anything.” Now it was Emma’s turn to interrupt, unable to fight the hurt in her voice. What was she expecting anyways? Her life wasn’t fit for some romantic, idiotic love story. Certainly not with the constant threat of death. Especially tomorrow. “Jophiel said they could be platonic or romantic. It’s just two souls split in half. They’re all dead anyways…the rest of them. So, it is what we make of it.”

“I apologize if you feel I have misled you in any way with my intentions. This has always been about the greater good of my brothers and sisters, and—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Though she did; all of Castiel’s intentions since the moment they’d met had been about protecting her. Maybe it was the Nephilim thing that was keeping the angel at bay. But regardless, his matter-of-fact way of speaking already cut through her core like a knife, and her mark arched as though she were watching him die all over again. It was a different kind of dying, she supposed. If his mark bothered him as well, the angel remained utterly unfazed. She dug the vial out of her pocket and wrapped her fingers around it, finding some comfort in it where she could no longer find it in her bond with the angel.

“Don’t bother coming tomorrow,” The words came out flatter than intended, but delivered her point all the same. “The last thing I need is you getting in the way of everything and getting yourself hurt.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “This is just as much my war as it has become yours. I have more power now, and I—”

“—I don’t care. We don’t need you there. I don’t need you in general. I have all the power I’ll need in this stupid little vial here. So, whatever you can do, I’ll be able to do it better.”

“You don’t know what kind of power you’ll be dealing with. You don’t know how to use it.”

Emma started for the door, nearly brushing Castiel’s shoulder as she passed by him, then stopped for a moment. Without turning around, she replied, “It’s not really any of your damn business.” She wrenched open the door to Bobby’s living room and let it slam shut behind her, leaving Castiel outside, standing in the dark alone.


	8. Chapter 8

_Emma couldn’t remember when she’d decided to go for a walk, especially after promising Dean she wouldn’t wander further than the junkyard. And yet she gingerly ducked her head out of the path of an overhanging branch, careful not to get strands of hair ensnared in the tough little ends. Her fingers glided along thick, chipped bark, a forested area she couldn’t remember seeing just beyond the junkyard, but surprisingly was here. She faltered just once at the sensation of warm breath at the nape of her neck, feeling oh-so-suddenly vulnerable and exposed despite the density of the trees. She turned slowly to face Sam, her twin’s eyes a possessive blue-green, brightly reminding her that this was not, in fact, her brother, but the archangel using him as her personal puppet. Sam’s hand extended to her face and brushed the backs of his fingers down along her jawline, coming to a halt just under her chin and gingerly gripping her face. Jophiel’s possessive hold appeared to give way, leaving nothing but frantic hazel eyes boring into hers, his grip tightening in panic._

_“Why did you leave without me?” Sam demanded, desperate for an answer, fingertips trembling as he tried to keep his hand from traveling lower._

_“We…Sam we didn’t want to. You were gone, there was so much going on, I’m coming for you, though. I’m gonna save you.”_

_“You’re going to save me?” Sam half-laughed, half-cried out. “You think you can stop her? You can’t stop her. No one can stop her.”_

_“Sam, I promise, we always took care of each other, right? You and me…?” She cautiously grabbed at the wrist that still clenched her jaw, cautiously trying to ease the pressure off without sending Sam into a tizzy._

_“It’s too late! Don’t you see how hard it is for me to hang on? I can’t—I can’t do this anymore, Em. I want to die. Her power…it’s suffocating me-!”_

_“Please hang on. Please! Sam—” Her brother’s hand drifted to her throat, the limb shaking almost violently, struggling to not put pressure on. Emma tried to remain calm. “Sam…Sam please…we have a plan—”_

_It didn’t matter. Sam’s hand tightened at her neck, closing off her windpipe. He looked deranged, eyes bugged out and wide, red where there should have been white, and a twisted look of both pain and amusement on his face. “Plan? What plan?! I’m DEAD, don’t you get that, Emma? No matter what you do, or what you plan, or how you try to fight, you will never save me! You can’t stop me!”_

_“S-Sa—” Emma rasped, clawing at her twin’s hand viciously, Sam lifting her up with ease and forcing her weight up against one of the trees. “-P-Pl—se—”_

_“I AM A GOD; DO YOU HEAR ME?! I AM THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD!” Spots of white and black appeared in Emma’s vision, her kicks weakening with each passing second. “YOU CAN’T KILL ME!”_

_“St—”_

“Emma!”

_“NOTHING YOU CAN DO WILL STOP ME!” Sam only held on tighter, eyes flashing green, pushing in with enough crushing force to nearly break her spine. “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHO—"_

“EMMA!”

She came back to reality with an incredible, gasping start, fingers fumbling under her pillow and gripping the hilt of the knife stashed underneath it and lashing out at the force pinning her down blindly. But the figure stilled her wrist with such ease that she was forced to drop it almost immediately. A hand pressed to her forehead washed her over with a sudden wave of calm and she stilled, falling back against her bedsheets, coughing and blinking tears out of her vision. The hands on her cautiously eased her upright into a sitting position before moving away and flicking on the lamp beside the bed.

Emma rubbed at her throat, not needing to meet the angel’s gaze to know that Cas was the one who’d woken her up. “When…did you get here…?”

“Just a few moments ago. You were dreaming.”

“Hell of a dream…” She muttered, rubbing at her neck, still feeling the ghost of Sam’s fingers clenching her windpipe.

“It was no ordinary dream. Archangels have the ability to dream walk. They can enter your dreams without your permission to communicate with you. It appears Jophiel had more in mind than just communication.”

“You mean that was all…real?”

“Her presence and her actions were real.” Cas almost sounded sympathetic. Almost.

Emma swallowed, feeling the ache around her throat. “It wasn’t Jophiel, it was Sam.”

“It may have looked like Sam and talked like Sam, but Sam wouldn’t be able to communicate with you. Not even with Jophiel’s aid.” The angel straightened his composure and stepped back away from the bed. “What did she say to you?”

Though she didn’t want to dwell on the dream any longer, recalling the things that ‘Sam’ said provided more clarity, and further evidence to support what Cas said. Emma exhaled unevenly. “She…wanted to know our plan. Then she…just went ballistic. Called herself a God, said that we stand no chance at killing her.”

“Did you tell her our plan?”

“No…she didn’t exactly give me a chance to speak before she was trying to strangle me.”

Cas fidgeted slightly, arms going slack at his sides. “She’s becoming more unstable with every passing hour.”

“…Why are you still here, Cas?” Emma finally dared to look up at the angel, meeting his gaze, only realizing then with the shift in her eyes that tears built up, and were splattering silently down her face. So much for sleeping away the frustration, the fear… “I thought I told you, I don’t want your help. You’re just going to get in the way.”

“There’s nowhere else for me to be,” The angel answered with an indifferent shrug, though he seemed to be looking past her now, pretending to maintain eye contact. “If I die tomorrow then I die. At least I will have done something to contribute to this fight.”

“The only thing you’re going to contribute is to be another distraction for us. I already lost Sam, I could lose Dean…”

“—And you worry you may lose me again, as well.”

“Why would I care about losing you?” She murmured indignantly. “Just doing your duty, right? I’ll finish this shit up so you can go home.”

“I don’t know that I’ll ever truly return home. I forsook my duties to look after you—”

“—For the ‘greater good of your brothers and sisters’. Yeah, we just talked about this. My brothers and I were just tools in this stupid war that none of us ever wanted to get involved in. And by tomorrow, it’ll come to some kind of resolution. If you’re sticking around to make sure I hold up my end, no worries there. I’m getting my brother back no matter what.”

Cas’ reply didn’t come for several painful moments, and even then, he hardly spoke above a murmur. “I don’t want to see any of you get hurt.”

Emma laughed dryly. “I think you’re a little late for that.”

“Which is why I insist that I’m there to offer any aid that you may need.”

“Why would I need you to do that when I can do it myself?” Emma pulled the vial of Grace out from around her neck and stood up, a threaded eye-hook rammed into the stopper and a chain had been fed through it so she could keep the vial safe and close to her person.

Cas’ eyes flickered to the vial for a moment, then back to her face. “We don’t know what this will do to you. If Michael truly sired you, your power would be…immeasurable. And taking all of that back in at one time could have unknown consequences.”

“If it allows me to kill Jophiel, what difference does it make to you?”

Cas didn’t reply, eyes searching hers in the dimly lit bedroom. Her mark ached to touch, ached to reach out and connect with her soulmate but being unable to do so by the wall of hurt she’d put around herself, and the subsequent wall of defense Cas was practically projecting into the room. It came as no surprise when the angel stepped back away again, eyes now on the floor.

“I should go.”

“Yeah. You should.”

Even as she’d said the words, Emma reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his coat to stop him from vanishing. Yet and still, her body betrayed her mind, the stupid connection she shared with this damn angel making her project her feelings like a lovesick middle schooler. Cas glanced down at the hold she had on him, but didn’t try to pull away. Much like normal, Cas defaulted to silence, unable to fill the void with any sort of comforting explanations, or to express himself like any normal person would. Cas wasn’t a normal person, though. The thought of not having Cas at her side tomorrow when she confronted Jophiel for the last time could only be described as sickening, leaving a bad taste in her throat and knots in her stomach. But the angel appeared to have changed over the course of the day or so he’d been dead. Maybe someone or something got to him. Or more likely, maybe he was reminded of what his role was truly supposed to be. But Emma clung to the words of their first encounter, of Cas coming of his own free will, of trying to keep her safe because he felt like nothing in the world were more important than that.

Christ…this really is like a ridiculous soap opera Emma thought miserably to herself, her fingers still wound into the waterproof cotton gabardine, wanting answers to questions she didn’t know how to ask him. The silver glow returned, encompassing their hands so that Emma cautiously released the angel’s coat and her fingers drifted to his wrist. If he had protests, they were never voiced, his hand turning upright and exposing his palm. How could he not feel this? The pull of their two bodies…she’d seen the evidence on his face before, that serene wash of relaxation that made all of his facial features ease and the tension in his shoulders slump away with the ginger brush of her fingertips. She left his hands and started for his chest, hands raking up his clothed torso and caressing over his shoulders, absently feeling over the areas where Jophiel had injured him. It had to be a delusion…the life-threatening wounds like phantom pain on her own body.

“Emma…” Her name nothing shy of a cautionary murmur on the angel’s lips as she pressed her body closer to his, enough to feel heat radiating from his chest. Enough for the silver to fall to the background, forgotten when confronted with the uncertain body in her grasp.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too,” Emma replied before he could jerk himself out of the haze, fingers ghosting back down his abdomen and slipping to his hips. “I can see it on your face.”

“—We can’t.” Cas interrupted, gravelly voice fighting to break through, averting his eyes. “I…can’t.”

“All this time there was no hesitation. Cas, look at me.” Her hand grazed along his jaw and the angel’s attention returned with little to no resistance. The way his blue eyes just melted her core, warmed her heart and forced it to beat faster.

Cas leaned in first this time, cautious and unsure of himself, lips grazing hers in an awkward, inexperienced kiss. With ease she adjusted his head and her own, tentatively exploring his lips, free hand splayed to his chest while the other helped to guide him. That twinge returned, that need to pull closer, and so her hands slipped along his torso again, fingers skillfully undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Cas froze at her touch, when the tips brushed against bare skin. Emma paused, wondering for a moment if she’d pushed him too far. But the angel only moved closer, his own hand finally finding stability at her hip, backing her up a step so her backside met the wall beside the bed before their mouths crashed together again. She hefted the shirt free from its partially-tucked confines along his belt, his bare chest now completely exposed and available for her hands to touch and caress anywhere she liked. While one did just that, the other raised to his head, lightly gripping his hair, keeping their mouths together and in sync while Cas adjusted to the intensity like an eager teenager, a low grumble in his throat sending vibrations off her lips. She paused to catch her breath, breaking the kiss, and that proved to be the mistake.

In a blink, Cas disappeared, and she was once again left alone in her old bedroom, the warm shadow of his presence still lingering between silver-imbued fingertips. She stayed against the wall, chest heaving, lips tingling, but the seraph left no trace that he’d ever even been there aside from what was practically imprinted on her skin. Son of a bitch… She muttered to herself, feeling the stinging pull of dried tears on the sensitive skin beneath her eyes. She rubbed at them and cleared the rest of the tears from her face to shake away the haze, cursing Cas out in every possible way she could think of. She couldn’t stay in this room any longer tonight. Not when there were nightmares to fall back into and idiot jackass poofing angels that came and went as they pleased. She grabbed her pillow and left the room, heading just to the door next over where Dean crashed for the night. She could hear his deep-throated snoring just standing in the doorway, and took her time opening up the door and letting herself in. There was no getting back to sleep like this. At least, not by herself. And if she was going to die in the next 24 hours, she wanted to spend some of those last moments as close to her brother as possible. Even though she’d shut the door with nothing more than a soft click, Dean grunted and sat up, flicking on his nightstand light with his pistol aimed at the doorway.

“It’s just me.” Emma assured him, unfazed.

“Emmy—?” Dean grabbed the alarm clock on his bed and glared at the digits until they came into focus, setting the gun aside. “’S like, 2:30 in the morn’. The hell you doing up?”

“Would you believe me if I said I had a bad dream?”

“Would.” Dean muttered, voice still heavy with sleep. “Jus’ fell asleep not too long ago m-self…”

“Sorry I woke you.” She suddenly felt so unsure of herself, tucking the pillow behind her back.

“Y’wanna talk ‘bout it?”

“Not really. Sorry, D. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Why dontcha come lay here w’ me?”

Even though he offered it, she still hesitated by the doorway. “These beds aren’t really built for two people…”

“G’thing you’re so small…” Dean replied with a tired smirk, inching over and patting the space on the bed. “C’mon.”

She only lingered by the door another moment or so longer before she cautiously approached the bed, ramming her pillow up against his and slinking into the limited space available. Her knees dangled off the side of the bed and she barely had room to lay her body sideways, but the moment her oldest brother’s arm draped around her, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that there was no space, that they might not live to see another day, that angels and archangels alike were both stupid and venomous. Nothing else mattered than this moment alone with Dean, with her family again, as fragmented as it might have been. She spent so many years planning out exactly what she would say, how she’d berate Dean for leaving her to go back to Dad when he’d promised that they were done with him for good. She couldn’t have accounted for this moment; the moment of just being held by him again and feeling like a little kid, and that no matter what monsters they encountered the next day, everything was going to be okay, because Dean was right there.

“S’okay to be scared, Em.” Dean murmured into the back of her head, his forehead to her skull and arm like an iron bar over her torso. “No matter what happens, nothin’ else matters ‘cept you and Sammy.”

“And you, Dean.” Emma replied softly, grabbing her brother’s hand. “You’re not allowed to do anything stupid like try to leave me behind again. Or I’ll follow you and kick your ass.”

Dean chuckled warmly into her hair. “Bet you would. You’re gonna regret comin’ on the road with us. Nothing but motels and fast food.”

“At least I’d be with you and Sam.”

“I’mma need that in writin’ for when you start bitchin’ about stuff.” She could hear the pull of sleep starting to take him again, his arm relaxing some, but the hold still firm. “Try ‘n get some sleep, baby girl…”

Emma shut her eyes, knowing that sleep would take her soon too now that she felt warm and safe with Dean beside her. “I love you, Dean.”

“…mmf…love you too, Em.”

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The war had come to a temporary cease-fire. Michael agreed to meet with her, and from there they would fight. After everything was said and done, Jophiel supposed she could offer a chance for mercy to the remaining angels. Either they join her side, as so many others had done in order to avoid total extermination, or they could die alongside their leader. Of course, even her followers would meet an unfortunate end. The price that her brothers and sisters would just need to pay for a new world order to begin. First, cleanse those still loyal to Michael. Finish off her brothers, Raphael and Lucifer…then just a matter of tracking down Gabriel. After that would be the holy cleanse, all the wretched humans on this forsaken planet would be eliminated. Few she would grant access to Heaven, perhaps turn a few new angels. Only after ridding the Heavens of all current angels. Hell and its demons would follow, and finally, she’d turn her attention to the one who’d entirely abandoned her. Father cast Lucifer down to Hell, but left his daughter torn to shreds and fragmented living inside a human, hardly clinging to life, and not once came to her aid.

Her patience for this all to come to an end wore incredibly thin, and the itch of not having her true vessel began to show on Sam Winchester. The poor human was not built for a power like this, having surpassed even Lucifer’s own self-proclaimed, god-like abilities. Though Sam was beginning to fall apart, he didn’t wear nearly as horribly as Vanessa’s poor body had. The skin crackled and broke apart around his face and eyes, and the pathetic little Winchester finally succumbed to silence after nearly two days of whining to be let free. She suffocated that consciousness beneath layers of her own power, feeling him dig at it constantly in a vain attempt at freedom. Eventually he became too weak to fight it any longer, and that was when the silence settled in. Such a weak boy could only be the vessel for Lucifer.

“My Lord?”

“Mm?” Jophiel pulled out of her thoughts and glanced carelessly over at Javier, the pair standing just outside the junkyard where the remaining Winchesters had been hiding out. “What is it?”

“It’s Lucifer. He… appears to have escaped.”

Jophiel’s head snapped wholly in his direction. “What? What do you mean he’s escaped?”

“The guard on duty would not say how it came to be. I only know that he is no longer in Hell. I have a team out searching for him at this very moment, we will bring him back.”

“He won’t be found,” Jophiel snapped, looking away from her second-in-command. “If Lucifer escaped, it wasn’t on his own. He was under my possession. Someone let him out, and took him from his cell.”

“What would you have me do, my Lord?”

“Kill everyone.”

“…Everyone…as in the army…?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Javier. I want every loyalist angel executed right this moment. Any of my brothers and sisters could have betrayed me, and now, they will all pay the price for it.”

“As…you command, my Lord.”

“And Javier?”

“Yes?”

Jophiel grabbed the demon by his throat, dragging him close, forcing their eyes to meet while the creature flailed, stunned at the sudden violent motion. In a flash the possessive green reflects held in Javier’s eyes, and he became pliant in her hold.

“When you have finished carrying out my orders, I would like for you to ingest holy water until there’s not a fraction of yourself left alive that can disgust my presence any further.”

“Yes, my Lord…” The demon murmured hypnotically, then disappeared from her grasp just as quickly.

There was not a doubt in her mind that either Michael or Raphael had managed to reach out to one of the terrified brothers and sisters allegedly ‘loyal’ to her to help get Michael freed. Perhaps one of her brothers had been bold enough to go down there themselves. It wouldn’t matter. They could all join forces and not one of them would be enough to withstand her power now. However, continuing to use an inappropriate vessel did make for some potential uncomfortable side effects when she displayed wholly what she was capable of. But if Emma Winchester refused to be hers, then the poor, pathetic girl would just get to witness what happens to the body of her precious twin brother fall apart until it succumbed to the power within.

During the dream walking trip, the girl confessed to having some kind of plan. Perhaps something she’d cooked up on her own; but she couldn’t put it past the realm of thought that just maybe they were partnering up with Michael to try and take her down together. No matter. She expected this would come to a head in the next day instead of the day after when she was supposed to meet with Michael. Perhaps it would be easiest to begin the cleansing now.

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“Did you remember to eat somethin’?”

“Bobby,” Emma sighed, checking the magazine on her gun before ramming it back into the chamber and switching the safety on. “I really can’t stomach anything right now.”

“You shouldn’t even be coming with us,” Dean grunted from the driver’s seat, pushing the duffel bag full of weapons closer to his sister. “You’re not part of the plan.”

“That’s because you idjits made a plan and didn’t bother consultin’ me. I’ve had enough of you trying to do everything all on your own like this. And speaking of this plan—”

“—Yeah, we know it blows.” Dean interrupted again. “But we ain’t got much of a choice. Not if we want to get Sam back.”

“You had talked to me we could’ve come up with a better—”

Emma cut him off this time. “—Bobby. Please. Dean and I hashed this out together for a long time. We don’t have any other ideas. I appreciate that you’re worried, but we’re doing it. So stop bitching, okay?”

The old hunter grunted and muttered something petulant under his breath, but didn’t retort outwardly to them further than that. Emma faced forward again and zipped up the duffel bag; though she hardly expected anything inside of it to be of any use to them, Dean insisted that she didn’t just walk out into the field entirely unarmed. The plan sounded simple in theory, but relied heavily on Emma’s ability to manipulate the archangel, and resort to using her Grace “if necessary”, though the tone in which Michael said it made it sound like he would rather she die than even consider using it. The area they agreed to do this was a heavily popular location for campers, fishing, hiking, and boating, but they hoped that the bitter weather would at least be a deterrent for large quantities of people. In fact, Michael insisted it was just about the only area that they could do it.

Lake Herman State Park sat near Lake County and even had a series of campsites set up. But the further one could hike along the lake, the denser and forested it became in certain areas. Dean drove them out to the furthest point along the campground where the grounds itself were more open but the entire section of land was surrounded by the lake, almost like a private island. Unfortunately, there were still people littered about, but thankfully not as many as they had anticipated. At this ungodly hour of the morning, the campers would remain in their tents, and the lake would only contain a few fishermen who elected to brave the brisk thirty-degree weather to try and catch a few things. Once Dean pulled over, they began to lay their trap, setting up as they were instructed to do. Just as Emma finished dumping out the last bottle, an anticipated intense angelic presence appeared from out of the blue.

“Is everything ready?” Michael demanded, looking irritable despite attempting to pull a blank, expressionless face.

“There’s a hell of a lot of people here,” Dean growled, tossing aside his canister and coming to his sister’s side. “What exactly are you planning on doing about that?”

“They’ll all be struck with the sudden urge to leave shortly. I have no intention of bringing any additional casualties into this.”

“Totally makes sense that you’re making us gamble with Emmy’s life, then.”

“Dean.” She lightly slapped her brother’s chest, though couldn’t find the words to disagree. “Let it go.”

“I’m not gonna let it go. But I’m gonna be here for you and Sammy.”

“So, you’re both clear, then? Bring Jophiel here, light the circle, and we’ll handle the rest.” Michael squared his shoulders, shortening the conversation they’d had the other day.

“And what’s to stop her from unleashing hell on us, huh?” Dean demanded, taking a step closer to the archangel. “You know she’s got an army. Why would she even come here? How are we supposed to get Sam separated from her before you do…whatever it is you’re going to do?”

“As we discussed,” Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Jophiel’s power may have been too much for Sam Winchester. I will not know the extent of what can be done for him if I’m not wholly certain he’s alive. Jophiel’s consciousness completely destroyed her last vessel, soul and all.”

“Yeah and your plan hinges on us putting a lot of trust in you not being a huge dick. And quite frankly, that’s about all you’ve ever been. Sammy’s alive. So, what are you gonna do to help him? How is this damn circle gonna do anything?”

Michael’s fingers twitched at his side, and Emma finally intervened, stepping forward. Michael truly was their best chance at restraining Jophiel. On their own, maybe they could’ve trapped her in the circle, but what good what it have done if the archangel wasn’t with them to completely subdue her? “Give me the chance to get through to Sam.”

“We don’t have that kind of time.” Michael replied tersely.

“I’d say in fact…you don’t have any time at all.”

All three jumped back at the sound of Sam’s voice, his towering, lanky figure directly behind Michael. His lips curled into a smile, eyes still completely hazed over with green and blue. Jophiel’s power, if it hadn’t killed him, certainly had worn on the middle Winchester. The skin around his eyes cracked and split with blue angelic light pouring out through every crease. Sam’s shirt was covered in blood, looking like cinematic splatters that stretched up along to his neck and part of his jawline.

“A holy circle, Michael? Really?” Jophiel laughed, and though it was Sam’s voice, it was a laughter so unlike his own. “This is what you came up with to try and trap me. You made yourself stand out like a sore thumb, it was far too simple to drop in on you like this.”

Like magic, the circle they’d created in the grass erupted in flame, ensnaring Jophiel, Michael, Emma, and Dean all inside of it. Bobby stood just outside, tossing the lighter aside and holding up his shotgun like it’d do any of them any good. “Get out of there! Both of ya!”

“Mm…no. I think we should all stay here.” With a flick of Sam’s wrist, Jophiel managed to send Bobby flying through the clearing and completely out of their sight, Dean and Emma’s shouts of protests going completely ignored. “Now that we’re stuck here, I think we should have a talk.”

“Sam?!” Dean stepped closer to the archangel. “Sam, can you hear me??”

“Sam’s not here right now,” Jophiel grinned. “Actually, I don’t think he’s here at all. I think this got to be a little too much for him.”

“Let him go.” Emma demanded, pushing Dean back a step. “He’s not your vessel. I am. Let Sam go and—” Before she could finish speaking, the air in her lungs vanished as though she’d been punched in the gut. Emma doubled over, grasping at her throat and Dean at her side, shaking her shoulder, demanding to know what happened.

Jophiel’s joking, condescending demeanor shifted at once, eyes narrowing as she fixed her attention on Michael. “Why? Tell me why you did this to me. Why did you cast me out? What had I done, brother?”

Michael looked away from the pair of Winchesters who were recovering from his attack, meeting his sister’s gaze, but with a look of disinterest, and a complete lack of empathy. “I did what I had to do, Jophiel. Had I known that it would have all led here, I would have made certain that you were dead.”

“But WHY?!” Jophiel practically screamed, getting in Michael’s face. “Tell me why you did this to me!”

Emma returned to her feet with Dean’s concerned hands at her side, both looking at the damage Jophiel’s power was doing to Sam’s body. What time did they have? How could they possibly get through to him? Dean wordlessly searched Emma’s face for an answer, conveying what he wanted her to do, and after reaching inside of her mind, she knew without a doubt that Sam was still hanging on. It was enough for Dean. They couldn’t give up on him. Jophiel seized the front of Michael’s jacket, clinging to him, demanding, eyes flaring, screaming. And yet the eldest archangel stood stoic, staring blankly back at his sister like her power didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“ANSWER ME! TELL ME WHY! TELL ME!”

“No.”

Jophiel screamed, a familiar silver blade suddenly appearing in her hand as she raised it high and nearly brought it down toward Michael’s chest in a furious flurry of movement. But Michael easily countered the attack, bringing out his own and throwing her back out of his personal space, his own angel blade turning over in his hand. “I am sorry it came to this, Jophiel. But I have to protect what’s left of our home. You’ve taken nearly everyone and everything down with you, and I cannot allow it to continue any longer.”

Realization dawned on Emma in that moment and she lunged forward, grabbing Michael’s wielding arm with bold carelessness. She struggled to hold him back, knowing all too well that he could throw her aside, but hadn’t yet. “You never had any intention on helping us save Sam. He’s still alive in there!”

“Release me at once.”

“I’m not going to let you kill him! He’s alive!”

Michael dislodged Emma’s hold with a sharp blow to the chest that sent her flying back, rolling back near the edge of the ring. Dean scrambled to replace her, getting in-between the fighting archangels. The pair moved so fast it was nearly impossible to discern them, but the sharp clangs of metal hitting metal could be distinguished as Emma got upright again despite the throbbing in her chest. She leaned on her knees, Dean suddenly falling onto the ground beside her. In a daze he tried to recover, rolling onto his left side and pushing upright again with Emma doing the same. The pair stood back, huffing without a plan as to how they stopped the two archangels they could barely see.

“What the hell do we do?” Dean wiped away a trickle of blood from his lip, the pair nearly getting knocked off their feet again as a surge of angelic power came washing through the holy circle. “Can we call Cas?”

“Cas can’t stop them either, not even with his new special powers. There’s…maybe I can reach out to Sam.”

She and Sam hadn’t used their twin abilities in so long, but…there had to be a way. She only had to reach him. Buried consciousness or not, Sam was in there somewhere dammit! Emma closed her eyes, following that withered tendril in the back of her mind that always felt like her twin brother, that his proximity and his presence were with her even when he wasn’t. But whatever lingered of Sam’s consciousness was weak, and they hadn’t probed at their twin abilities in such a long time. Even if he fought the best fight, Sam couldn’t reach out to her.

Sam’s shout of pain cut through her thoughts like a knife, her brother’s possessed body stumbling back a step or two and holding a profusely bleeding shoulder. Michael stepped forward again, Jophiel’s eyes widening.

“You can’t—…I’m more powerful! I’m stronger than you!”

“Michael!”

Emma wrenched out the vial from around her neck and held the dangling chain of angel grace out threateningly. Dean grabbed at her arm, forcing her to stay back at his side as though that would put a stop to any of this. Michael froze, not turning his back to his sister or to Emma either, eyes narrowing. “It’s too late for Sam, Emma. You will accomplish nothing with that.”

Jophiel took the opportunity of stunned silence to lunge at her brother regardless, catching Michael around the middle and knocking them both into the grass, driving the blade down with enough force that it sunk into the Earth beside Michael’s head. Emma tugged at her arm from Dean’s iron-clad hold. “Let GO, Dean! This is the only thing I can think of!”

“We don’t—dammit Emmy, STOP! – we don’t know what that’s gonna do to you!”

Jophiel let out a shriek so intense their argument completely cut out, Emma’s hands clapping over her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sound. Another blast of angelic power exploded through the ring, this time taking both the standing Winchesters with it and sending them careening into the trees. Emma’s back hit a trunk with a hard-enough SMACK! she could’ve sworn she became paralyzed. But after the surge faded and she managed to wriggle her toes, Emma leaned on her forearms and got back upright, Dean’s still body just shy of an arms-reach away, but covered by a tan coat.

Cas finished healing Dean with one last flash of light from his palm before he straightened up, pulling Dean into a seated position, and turned to face Emma. “We have to get away from here.”

“Cas…” Emma could’ve cried, both from frustration and relief. “I told you not to come.”

“I believe you once said I was a huge pain in the ass. But I saved your life.” The angel almost, almost smiled. “We have to go. I know how much Sam means to you, but Jophiel and Michael’s armies are raging war against each other as we speak, and it will be dangerous for you and Dean to be here regardless of who comes out on top.”

“I’m not leaving Sam behind. Get Dean and Bobby out of here.”

“Emma, listen to me—” The angel stepped forward, looking to grab hold of her in any way he could. But the sound of Michael crying out this time was enough to have her head whipping to the side, back to the holy circle, jerking her arm back out of Cas’ reach.

She got back to her feet before the angel could try and stop her, returning through the ring and forced herself between both Michael and Jophiel, both thankfully corporeal again, the vial of grace now clenched in a fist. She glared at the pair, but turned her attention to the thing holding onto her brother. “Jophiel please. I don’t give a damn what you do to your own brother but give me mine.”

“This vessel is hindering my power.” Jophiel growled, her stance the only thing keep Michael at bay for the moment. “Say yes to me, Emma, and I’ll let go of your precious brother’s body.”

Michael lunged forward, though this time his aim had an entirely different path. The angel blade sunk into Emma’s shoulder the same moment she was knocked violently to the side by what felt like a brick wall. Castiel had joined the circle, knocking her aside to prevent the angel blade from going straight through her heart. Emma bit back the scream itching at her throat, grabbing the hilt and wrenching the blasted dagger free.

“Castiel.” Jophiel blanched. “I certainly did not expect to see you alive again.”

“It would seem our Father has bigger plans for me than he did for you.”

Emma struggled to get upright, the vial of angel grace at her side beneath her twitching hand, blood stretching from her shoulder down to her fingertips and pooling off the sides. Castiel hit the ground not too far away, Jophiel’s blade at his throat, her superior strength pinning him with ease.

“What would you know of our Father?! You are a few centuries old! At best! You know NOTHING of Father! And if I have to kill you a thousand times to prove it, then so be it!”

“NO!” Michael charged at Emma a split second too late, her fingers uncorking the vial of grace and dumping the contents into her open palm.

For a moment, nothing remarkable seemed to happen. The blue light trickled like dry ice into her palm, resting there, then slowly absorbing into her skin. It stretched along her forearm and pushed upwards into her eyes and mouth, entering as though it’d known its home all this time without a single word or command being uttered. Then the pain hit…like being lit on fire from the inside and out, the scene around them exploding into a frenzy of white-blue angelic light and consuming her. She must have been screaming but not a sound reached her ears, the light so blinding but unable to shut her eyes to try and block it all out. But just as slowly as it began, the pain ebbed away, the light subsided, and Emma leaned forward into the grass, vomiting nothing but bile and stomach fluid. She coughed the rest of it out, getting up onto her feet despite the fact that her limbs wiggled like a jell-o mold. The holy circle, along with most of the campground behind it, had been obliterated in what looked like a cartoonish blast that left the grounds charred and blackened. All pain and injury forgotten, Emma raised her hands, staring at them, seeing every pump of her pulse, feeling every tingle of power just itching to be unleashed.

She looked ahead. The tree where Bobby and Dean were resting had also been destroyed, and for a moment, panic gripped at her heart. Had she killed them? But Castiel returned to her line of sight, hands up in mock-surrender. “I moved them away.” As if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “They’re safe.”

“What in Father’s name did you do?” Jophiel demanded of Michael, who stood off to Emma’s right, furious. “You sired a Nephilim?”

Emma could see them both wholly now, the beings within the vessels, both different colored balls of light, and the absolute absurdity of Michael’s power the most prevalent. He’d been holding back. Despite what Jophiel had accomplished on her own, being inside a vessel that was not suited for her put her at an extreme disadvantage. Her essence within Sam looked like an overstuffed suitcase, power pushing at Sam’s muscles, begging to be unleashed but having absolutely nowhere to go. She and Michael were about equal in strength. But beneath the surface of blue-green light…a small flickering flame of life.

Sam.

“Emma.”

Her attention returned to Castiel, who was within arm’s reach. She could see it now. Their souls. How the two looked like separate, almost completely whole pieces, but with just a fraction missing. One that was made up with her own. Imbued with a silver outline, the souls looked to be reaching out, itching to make contact with the other in any way they could. When Cas stepped closer, the soul jerked forward. Strange how his didn’t look like Michael’s and Jophiel’s. There essences appeared more like light but Cas...the seraph had a soul. The sounds of the earth, the pulsating light of souls, the angels screaming in the midst of battle for aid when none were even present, demons cackling, the sensations were just at the brink of overwhelming. But Cas’ presence anchored everything, as if he knew, and were doing something to just take the edge off so she didn’t lose her mind. She couldn’t fathom what, but she could feel him, soft and warm, helping to try and block out those ambiances.

“It... It hurts.” She admitted, hands shaking, looking pleadingly at Cas as though he hadn’t cautioned her of the uncertainty of this exact situation. “I hear them all. All your brothers and sisters. I can hear them dying.”

“We can shut it out.” Cas promised, still reaching out, hands almost touching. “We have to go. I’ve got you.”

“She’s not going anywhere.” Jophiel snarled, knocking Cas out of the way with ease and violently grabbing Emma’s hair, holding the angel blade at her throat. “Say ‘yes’ right now, or your brothers and Castiel are dead. SAY IT!”

That light…that tiny flame. Sam. Sam is there. I can see you, Sam. Without thinking twice, she reached for that little flicker of life, grabbing hold of it as though it were sitting right in front of her. She warmed it with her thumb, caressed and touched his life force. It responded in kind, flickering, flitting around her fingertips. Help. Help. He needs help. He can’t breathe. She released the flame, and instead seized hold of the essence surrounding it, the blue-green light suffocating the remnants of her brother. No other sound made it through as she grabbed tight and pulled. It resisted, fighting back, trying to cling onto Sam. No. You can’t have him. He can’t breathe like this. With nothing more than a SNAP the essence gave way, wrenching free from around the little flame. The flame expanded some, like it took a deep breath, ever so slightly in the emptiness that now surrounded it. Oxygen was returning. He could breathe again. She could see him growing, little by little, but he was tired now.

That’s okay. You can sleep.

The world came back with shockingly stark clarity in far too quick an instant, sending Emma reeling backwards and struggling to focus her eyes, Jophiel’s restraining arms surprisingly gone. Sam lay collapsed on the ground by her feet, a steady rise and fall to his chest the only indicator that he was still alive, no trace of Jophiel still lingering inside of him. She stared back at her hands, remembering how she’d seized the light…Jophiel’s true form. But she looked around, and Jophiel couldn’t be found. Michael still stood stoic to the side, and Cas cautiously leaned over Sam, checking him over, then nodding reassuringly at Emma.

“He’s alive. Weak, but he’ll live.”

“What…What’d I do? Is…did I kill Jophiel?”

“No, you didn’t kill her.” Michael snapped. “You can’t just forcibly remove an angel from their vessel. This power is beyond your control. You’ve set Jophiel free. Again.”

It was Michael’s turn to get in her face, though the eldest archangel seemed far more cautious than his sister and didn’t reach out to grab or touch her. An open hand stopped Castiel from advancing any further, the other clenching his blade with the sharpest point a breadth’s distance from Emma’s sternum.

“I granted you this power. And it is mine to take away. Kneel. I will extract the grace and finish this. You have what you wanted. You have no need for this power.”

“It’s not yours to take.” Castiel returned to her side, keeping hands his hands clear but not letting Michael hold the blade at her chest. He gripped the archangel’s arm.  
“This was not our arrangement.” Michael growled. “Get out of the way, Castiel. I won’t hesitate a second longer to kill you.”

“Your arrangement means nothing. You lied to all of us, and I’m going to make certain you never have this grace in your possession again.”

Michael’s restraint, as forewarned, lasted only a beat before he slashed at Castiel, the seraph barely managing to duck out of the way before Michael was on him. A flurry of knife-slashing followed, Michael desperate to get his hands on Castiel so much so that he neglected Emma’s presence, if even for just that moment. But the neglect of his surroundings is what caused the sudden shift, another powerful angelic presence filling the decimated clearing. A tall, dark-skinned figure stood behind Michael, dragging the eldest’s attention away from Castiel who now was on the ground, nursing a wound to his lower abdomen and keeping his injury out of the line of fire.

“Raphael?” Michael recoiled, surprised. “What—?”

“NO!” Emma darted forward two steps too late, an angel blade suddenly protruding from the back of Michael’s neck, his back to the youngest Winchester as she had stopped only a moment, but continued to get to Castiel’s side.

Michael gurgled sickeningly, the assassination shock still etched across his face even seconds after. The blade was withdrawn, only to ram upwards through his jaw and into his head. An explosion of white-blue angelic light filled the clearing, the same ejection scream and whine of ear-shattering sound that she’d heard from Castiel surrounding them until…nothing. The body Michael had been using fell lifeless to the ground in a crumpled, bloodied heap, the man looking up, but an all-too-familiar possessive green reflect in his eyes.

“Jophiel…” Emma pulled Castiel back, keeping him as far out of the psychotic angel’s reach as possible. Sam’s body laid right beside her feet…they needed to get the hell out of there.

“There’s not a place you can run, a hole you can hide in, that I won’t find you again.” Jophiel’s sinister grin spread across her new host’s face. “And when I do, I’m going to making your every waking moment one of living hell. I have plans for this miserable excuse for a planet. With my brother out of the way, you, your family, your lover, you are all dead. I’ll rip that grace right out of you, fuel myself and my new world order for millennia to come.”

Castiel’s fingers wound around Emma’s wrist, his intent clear without a word being exchanged.

Jophiel leaned closer, her face an inch away from Emma’s. “Run.”

The scene around them vanished, and Cas released his grip on her wrist, their location somewhere she’d never seen before. Just taking in the surroundings as briefly as possible, it appeared to be some kind of a log cabin, the windows shuttered but light still poking through the creases. The floor, walls, ceiling, all wood, the layout resembling what she’d imagined a mountain-getaway would look like. Two plaid couches laid out in the living room and a rocking chair in the far corner, all occupied by her unconscious brothers and adoptive father. Castiel wavered slightly behind her and Emma stilled him with ease, bracing his weight against her hands.

“Cas, where are we?”

“White River National Forest.” Cas muttered, taking Emma’s assistance and propping his back up against the northern most wall closest to the door. “Outskirts of it. There’s a prophet I followed that was lost out here. His family resided in this cabin. They do not use in during this particular season as the roads can become quite treacherous.”

“You don’t think she’ll find us here?”

“She can find us wherever we are. Our best chance is to lay low and ward this place until we come up with another plan.”

Emma finished healing the threatening injury on Cas, pulling back her trembling hands, the throbbing in her head nearly unbearable, but the realization of what she’d caused…how much worse of a situation she’d instigated by taking her grace, giving Jophiel the advantage to find another vessel and catch her brother off guard. Now there was no Michael. No one to obey.

“Cas I…I’m…”

“Don’t apologize.” The angel interrupted dismissively. “You did what you needed to do to save Sam’s life. And mine. You were right. I was just a distraction.”

“They might all be dead if you hadn’t been there,” Emma replied with a glance back at her family. “Why did she just let us go?”

“I imagine because she wants us to see what she plans to do with humanity. With the remaining angels under her thumb and the demons obeying her every order, I have no doubt she plans to wipe this planet out. Whether it is all at once or gradually over time, we’ll be allowed to live, and unable to stop it.”

“I can’t let her do this. I can stop her.”

“You need time to adjust to this power inside of you.” Cas grabbed her arm, holding her in place, forcing her to meet his stern gaze. “If you go out in this same condition, you will not be able to do a thing to stop her. Or you may kill yourself and others in the process. We need to recover, Emma. And then we will come up with a new plan.”

“We don’t have that kind of time! People are going to die—”

“—And there might be a way to fix it.”

“You can’t expect me to just—”

“—Emma. Listen to me, for just this once.” Castiel’s firm, but even tone held her in place, even if every ounce of her new powerfully charged body wanted to disobey. “I am doing everything in my power to stop this from overwhelming you. If you step outside this door, I’m afraid that all of this may be too much for you. You could kill her now as you are, I have no doubt of that. But what you might do on your own, without your knowledge or control, could be far more disastrous than what Jophiel has planned.”

It made sense…everything he had to say. The thrumming of power coursing through every vein was a struggle to keep bottled inside, even with Castiel’s assistance. There was no telling the damage she could cause to herself or to innocent people. But the thought of waiting…when she could put a stop to this right now, that was perhaps more painful than the direct result of what her new abilities could do to the planet. Still she stayed, taking a slow, uneven breath and letting it out in a trembling huff.

“Okay. I…we can’t wait forever.”

“And we won’t. But today, tomorrow…there is nothing more you can do.” Cas released his hold and straightened up, examining the spot she’d healed on his torso. “Thank you.”

“What changed?” Emma blurted out without thinking, arms folding over her chest. “From yesterday to today?”

“I’m not sure I understand?”

“When you saw the vial, you were in a rage. You thought about killing me. And now it’s inside of me and you don’t seem to be angry. Or afraid. Why aren’t you afraid?”

Cas looked to answer after a moment, lips parted, an explanation ready, but the sound of grunting and mild stirring distracted them both. Dean sat up slowly, hand at his head like he’d been struck with a horrible migraine, looking around in confusion, blinking half-lidded eyes. His gaze fell to his sister and Cas, then to his brother and adoptive father.

“What…the hell happened? Where are we?”

“In the mountains.” Cas explained as Emma crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her brother after he stood, head buried in his chest and clenching him tight. “We will need to catch you up.”

“Emmy, hey…” Dean gingerly removed her arms from around his chest and tilted her face up to force their eyes to meet. “What…?” His eyes narrowed, studying hers hard. Then the life looked as though it’d drained from his face, color receding and replacing it with a pale white so intense his freckles stood out. “You didn’t.”

Emma took a step back, arms defensive over her chest, looking away. “I did what I had to do. I saved Sam.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’ll need some time to recover. What was left of his life force was…nearly nonexistent. I don’t expect him to wake for another day or two, but I have healed all life-threatening damage. It’s just a matter of rest now.”

“And Jophiel? Michael?”

Cas and Emma exchanged equal looks of exasperation, and guided Dean to sit back down while they recapped events since he’d lost consciousness. In the time it took to explain, Bobby had also come to, and then the events needed to be re-explained again. With two of the three men back on their feet, there was mutual agreement among all that the best thing they could do was, at the very least, wait for Sammy to wake up and see if there was anything he might be able to share while he was stuck within Jophiel. Perhaps any key weaknesses or any plans she may have had. Out here in the mountains there was no cell service and no television, so they were effectively cut off from the world unless one of them ventured out. Castiel explained that while he was not capable of binding all of Emma’s abilities, he was adding his strength to hers in order to keep the “angel radio” shut down, and the crushing amounts of prayers and angelic knowledge under a tight lid.

“It requires a lot of concentration, but, as long as I remain here, I can help. We will introduce these one at a time and I will help you manage the information.”

“Why don’t we just extract it and just…cram it back in another vial?” Bobby suggested. “If it’s gonna kill her—”

“—It’s the best chance that we have at stopping Jophiel now that Michael is dead and Raphael is under her possession.”

“I really, really hate to say it but…what about Lucifer?” Dean ventured cautiously. “Where the hell has he been since all this went to hell?”

“The last we heard, Jophiel and Lucifer were working together. That no longer appears to be the case as she has taken control of Hell but…no one has seen or heard from Lucifer since.”

“So maybe our next step is to track down a demon or angel we can extract information out of.”

“Lucifer can’t be trusted.” Cas replied.

“But he might be our last chance at getting a shot at Jophiel. I can’t imagine he’s thrilled that he’s been dethroned and betrayed.” Emma added.

“We would need to locate him first…” Cas continued tentatively, not wholly agreeing with the situation but willing to entertain it with no other ideas on the table. “I will try and reach out to as many of my brothers and sisters as I can. However, I strongly advise that we remain out of sight for the next few days.”

“So we just, what, wait for Jophiel to take over?” Bobby retorted irritably. “We need to act.”

“No one’s in the condition to act. We don’t even know where she is or what she’s planning.” Dean countered, oddly reasonable for a change. “And I don’t know about you but she cleaned my clock really damn good. Sammy’s down for the count, so unless you got some angel voodoo up your sleeves, I think listenin’ to Cas is our best bet.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas managed a tentative nod. “We will be safe here.”

“I’m gonna take Sam to one of the beds.” Dean stood, taking up their gigantic brother’s arm and draping it over his neck, supporting him upright at the waist.

“There should be enough beds for everyone…I know at least three rooms.”

“I’m sleepin’ out here,” Bobby grunted, making himself comfortable on the couch. “Rather keep my eyes on the door in case anything decides to come creepin’ in. What makes you so sure this place is safe?”

“A prophet lived here,” Cas explained for the second time. “I had this cabin warded off when they first came here. It’s safe.”

“Whatever you say, all-knowin’ angel—”

“—Bobby.” Dean turned his head to glare at him.

Waving Dean off, the old hunter kicked off his shoes and made a few miniscule adjustments to the old couch to make it as comfortable as possible for himself. Emma stood, following Dean to one of the rooms with two full-sized beds and a single lamp in the center on a shared end table. Dean cautiously lowered Sam down on one of the beds and brushed his hair out of his face, back of his hand to his forehead, like they were kids all over again. Cas joined a moment later, watching the interaction over Emma’s shoulder.

“You sure he’s gonna be okay?”

“I can’t say for his mental state…” Cas murmured. “There’s no telling what Jophiel may have forced him to endure. But physically, he will heal.”

“I can see his life force.” Emma added, hovering over Dean’s shoulder, squeezing his forearm. “He’s getting stronger, D.”

“We can’t leave you like this.” Dean finally tore his gaze away from their brother and stood, grabbing Emma’s shoulders in either hand.

Emma sighed, leaning into Dean’s chest, head resting on him for just a moment. “I don’t know that we’ll have much of a choice. Let’s just get through the next couple of days.”

“Can you even sleep? Cas doesn’t sleep.”

“I can sleep, it’s just unnecessary.” The angel corrected. “And Emma is half-human. While I’m certain her grace would imbue her with the same abilities that I have, fatigue and hunger may still be easily relieved by rest and food consumption.”

“You really don’t know?”

“There’ve not been Nephilim. They are forbidden, if you recall. My understanding of what they’re capable of is as limited as yours.”

“I’ll lay down.” Emma assured Dean, stepping out of his arms and making her way toward the door. “You need to rest too.”

“Gonna be a pain with the sun shining in these damn windows.” Dean grumbled as he glanced around the room for a solution, sighing. “I’ll come up with something.”

“Let me know as soon as Sam wakes up.”

Emma pulled the door lightly shut behind her and started further down the narrow hallway, fingers brushing along the wood until she came across a door frame. Grasping the handle, the room revealed a small bathroom, complete with shower/tub combination. She pulled it back shut and tried for the next door her fingers came across right at the end, finding a bedroom she could use for herself. Much like Dean’s, light poured in through the thinly veiled curtains and cast a light pattern over the plaid comforter. It wasn’t much bigger and only had a single bed as opposed to the two full-sized in the other room, but she didn’t need much. However, it only then registered that Cas had been following, lingering two or three steps out of her way as if he were unsure of what to do with himself in the meantime.

Stepping inside the room, she gestured that Cas could follow and the angel did so with only a second or two of hesitation.

“Is this the first time you’ve had down time?” Emma asked, shutting the door quietly behind him and cautiously removing her dirty and charred pullover sweater.

“It’s the first time I have been unable to return home.” Cas admitted forlornly, his gaze returning to his feet, shuffling them awkwardly and uncomfortably. “I know I stressed the significance of laying low, but I should reach out to my brothers and sisters at once, see what they know. Michael is gone, Lucifer is missing, and Raphael is possessed. Heaven is wholly unguarded and I do not have the luxury of waiting.”

“Isn’t there another archangel? There has to be someone still standing in Jophiel’s way.”

“Lucifer if we can find where he is. And Gabriel has been missing for centuries.”

“So maybe we start there?” Emma offered. “We gather who we can to look for Lucifer and Gabriel, and we come up with a plan to stop Jophiel. You said yourself I might be able to stop her with my own power—”

“—We don’t know what she’s capable of now that she is possessing Raphael.” Cas interrupted with a sharp look up at her face. “That would be incredibly reckless not only to yourself but anyone within the vicinity of your confrontation.”

“Alright, alright, so we save that as a last resort if we need to. As far as visiting your brothers and sisters goes, Cas…there’s nothing you can do today anyways. And you were hurt—“

“—I am fine.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m fine too. But just lay low for now. Use your angel radio to reach out to everyone else.”

“It’s…difficult to do so while I am also blocking it for you.”

“So just—“

“—No.” The angel interrupted again. “If I let it all flood back at once, it may be too much. You need to ease yourself into the sounds of our brothers and sisters and as of right now it is…unpleasant. Their voices are ones of anguish, fear, concern…we are not inherently used to feeling these things.”

“I promise, I’ll do everything I can to help make this right.”

Cas fidgeted for a moment again, still lingering in the doorway, that familiar essence of silver floating between their two bodies, guiding them toward that reconnection that neither of them were certain they should act on. Emma started toward him when Cas shook his head, pulling back. 

“I need a moment.”

“Cas—“

The angel vanished from the room, and left Emma once again in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, positive or negative. It's been awhile since I've written anything, let alone posted it for someone to read. Thanks for taking the time!


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